Russian Roulette
by radioactive460
Summary: In the hands of the unsub, she fights the despair that tries to consume her as her mind latches onto a memory from her hidden past. A long ago mission that had also delivered her into the hands of the enemy. Beta'd. Hints of M/P. Entire team.
1. Chapter 1

**I want to give a huge thank you to the always awesome Lostinoblivion and Nix1978 for the beta/feedback. Additional A/N is at the end of the chapter.****  
****The timeframe for this story is 5th season.  
**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds**

He slowly opens his eyes and grimaces at the pain coursing through his body. "Wha-What the…" With an effort he pushes himself upright, wrinkling his nose as he surveys the garbage strewn alley around him. "How the hell…" Confusion clouds his eyes and he rubs a hand over his head as if that action could clear his foggy mind. A feeble attempt to get to his feet causes his legs to brush against a pair of badges lying next to him. He grasps at them desperately and drops them onto his lap. Opening the first badge he is greeted by his own face staring back at him. Tentatively he reaches for the second badge and flips it open to see the smiling face of his partner.

"Prentiss!" In the grips of panic, clarity slams into Morgan's mind like a sledgehammer.

* * *

"_Tony Michaels? I'm Agent Prentiss and this is Agent Morgan, we were wondering if you would go over your statement with us." Emily slightly inclined her head towards her partner as she flashed her badge to the witness._

"_But I-I don't understand." Confusion marred the man's face as he looked between the two agents. "I already told Agent Ortiz everything I know."_

"_We know." Morgan nodded. "We're actually from the Behavior Analysis Unit. The Oklahoma City field office called us in to help them out. We just want to hear your statement in your own words. We want to know everything you saw. Maybe going over it again will help you remember other details."_

"_But there are no other details. Like I told Agent Ortiz, I was on my morning run, taking my usual route when a dark van suddenly pulled out of an alley right in front of me."_

"_Mr. Michaels, right now you're our only lead. We promise we won't take up too much of your time." Emily gave him her best reassuring smile as she reached out to touch the man lightly on the forearm. _

"_Of course, I'm sorry. Anything to help." The man returned her smile, gestured the agents inside and followed them into the living room. "I had actually forgotten about that van cutting me off until I saw the evening news that night. Some reporter was filming live near the dumpsite and I recognized it from my morning route. Then I remembered the van."_

_Turning to face the witness, Morgan gave a slight start to find Tony standing directly behind him. "Whoa, I didn't realize you were…" His sentence was cut short as the man brought his arm swiftly from behind his back and shoved a taser against the agent's neck._

_Morgan crashed to the floor as muscle contractions wracked his large body. He was dimly aware of the sounds of a scuffle in his peripheral and knew his partner was grappling with their attacker. Suddenly Emily's body thudded to the ground in his line of vision. Her eyes were closed and blood flowed from a gash on her forehead. The agent gave a groan of pain and frustration as he tried to force his limbs to reach for her. "Prentiss"_

"_Oh, I don't think so Agent Morgan. You are going to know how it feels." The last thing Morgan saw was Tony's cocky smirk, then pain seized his body and darkness enveloped him. _

* * *

The first thing she notices as she claws her way into consciousness is the smell of old wood and mildew, followed immediately by a pounding in her head and the feeling of cold metal around both wrists. Prying her blood-crusted eyelids open, she blinks rapidly as her eyes adjust to her surroundings.

The building is small. _Probably an old out-building in the middle of fucking nowhere, _Emily concludes. Chains restrain her by both wrists to the wall behind her and the mattress she is sitting on is dirty and stained. She tries not to think about what those stains might be as she continues her scan of the room. Her blazer drapes a saw-horse near the opposite wall and a video camera on a tripod is aimed in her direction. A large light hangs from the ceiling and the only two windows she sees are completely blacked out, and she wonders how much time has passed since she was at Tony Michael's house with Morgan.

_Morgan…_ Concern for her partner and friend floods her mind. _Where is he; is he here? No, the unsub has no use for him._ She refuses to think that Morgan could be dead, to do so would break her and she needs to stay strong.

With each hand gripping the chain that binds her wrists, Emily strains as hard as she can in an attempt to pull them from the wall. She estimates the chains at three feet in length and they do not budge an inch. Even if she hadn't been sore and fatigued from her fight with Tony Michaels, she realizes she still wouldn't have had any effect on her bindings. Finally, lightheaded from her efforts and the head wound, she leans her head against the wall and closes her eyes.

"I can't believe we walked right into the unsub's house" Emily croaks.

Fighting the despair that tries to consume her, Emily's mind, almost against her own will, latches onto a memory from her past. A long ago mission that had also delivered her into the hands of the enemy.

* * *

_Moscow, July 1998_

"I'll give Nick the signal once Tom has tapped into the surveillance system. Emily, I don't have to remind you that time will be of the essence. Get to Alkaev's office, photograph any evidence you find of this new weapon and then get the hell out of there." The Team Leader looks from Nick to Emily as he barks out his instructions. "You do have the route memorized, right?"

With an eye roll, she pinches Nick as he snickers at her. "Not my first day on the playground Dean. I have the entire floor plan memorized."

She knows she shouldn't be snarky to her team leader, but the stuffy air and the smell of sweat in the close quarters of the service van have her a little on edge. Of course the fact that she cannot shake the horrible feeling of foreboding wasn't helping matters either. This should be a no-brainer; Tom will gain control of the surveillance system, he and Dean will be monitoring the audio feed and Nick will be with her. But that's just it, Nick won't be with her the entire time, Tom and Dean might be able to hear her but they will not be able to communicate to her, and although she won't be picked up on surveillance, she still may have to contend with the guards.

"Good." Unfazed by Emily's attitude, Dean's voice snaps her back into focus. She flushes slightly then curses herself for her momentary distraction and lack of control. Appearance is everything; that's been engrained into her psyche since she was a child, and today, sitting in the back of a crowded van with her alpha male colleagues, she has never been more grateful for that upbringing. _Maybe I should give Mother a call after this is over._ She nearly chuckles at the thought.

Tom, the team's tech expert, is in the process of securing a tiny microphone to the pendant Emily will wear, when a shadow suddenly obstructs his view. "Bambi, you're in my light."

"Are you almost done?" She takes a step back and tries not to fidget while she watches him work.

"So you're really that anxious for dancing and drinking with Russia's most wanted?"

"I never could pass up free booze."

He gives her a chuckle and holds up the necklace for her inspection. "Well, what do you think?"

"Not bad. Hey, maybe you should go into the jewelry making business." A mocking smile graces her features as she scrutinizes the pendant.

"What and leave this glamorous life." Tom gestures at the crowded, stuffy van as Dean and Nick smirk at his response. "Besides, who would watch your ass if I left?"

"I'm always willing to watch Emily's ass." Nick happily replies.

"He said watch my ass, not check out my ass." Emily counters, giving Nick a flat glare as he shrugs at her distinction.

"Nick is wired and his earpiece is in. I've checked the frequency and we're good. How are you two doing?" Dean directs his question at Tom in an attempt to reign in his team's focus.

"About there; turn around Bambi, let's get this on you."

"I wish you would quit calling me that." Grumbling, she turns her back to him.

Tom smiles to himself as he fastens the necklace around her neck. "Now remember, we will hear you but you won't hear us, so try to stay out of trouble."

Looking back at the tech expert with mock shock that turns to a toothy grin Emily exclaims, "Why Tom Kohler, when have I ever given you guys trouble?" Humor is her camouflage; her wall. There is nothing she can't deflect with humor.

He gives a snort at her cheeky question and nods to their leader. "Okay Boss, let's try it out."

Dean takes a seat at the instrument panel and places a set of headphones over his ears. After making a few adjustments, he turns and gives them an expectant look. "Okay Emily."

"It stinks in here." She states as Nick laughs out loud.

"Well, I heard that loud and clear." Removing his headphones, Dean turns to his agents. "It's time to do this." He gives Nick and Emily a fierce stare. "Be careful you two, and come back safe."

With one last look at her team, Emily makes her exit with her partner following close behind.

The Mercedes waiting to take them to their destination is parked close by and the pair climbs in to begin their short drive to Taras Alkaev's mansion.

"Did I mention you look stunning?" Nick winks at Emily as he admires how her low-cut, black-sequin gown hugs the curves of her body. Flirting between the two of them comes easy; it has since the day they first met. That the other two members of the team are usually listening never really fazes them.

"And you look like a blonde James Bond." The brunette retorts with a smirk.

Shooting her a frown the blonde fidgets slightly in his tuxedo. Emily's amusement is short-lived though and soon she is unconsciously picking her thumbnail as her gaze seems to watch the city go by her window. Nick however, is not fooled and knows her focus is internal and not on the buildings whizzing by.

"You're going to be fine. We're going to be fine." He gives his partner a reassuring smile, in hopes that easing her tension will help ease his own.

Emily's gaze returns to her partner's and she smiles back at him, grateful for his presence. That's the problem with Nick; she's never been able to fool him as easily as the others on her team. An occupational hazard no doubt caused by working so closely together. In the two years she's been with the team, he has always had her back, and she his. Maybe that occupational hazard isn't so bad after all.

The rest of the drive is spent in silence, and as their vehicle comes to a stop in the circular drive of the imposing mansion, they both share a glance with raised eyebrows. Taking a calming breath, the brunette smiles at the valet, who assists her from the vehicle, "спасибо." (Thank you)

The valet acknowledges Emily with a polite nod as Nick tucks her arm under his own. Arm in arm they make their way towards the mansion's entrance, smiles plastered on their faces and bundles of nerves in their stomachs.

"Time to swim with the sharks." Emily whispers softly under her breath.

* * *

The attendant at the main entrance of the mansion is nearly as wide as he is tall and he regards the couple with a cold, blue-eyed glare. Of course "attendant" is using the term loosely, the man is obviously a guard and Emily hopes any others she might encounter inside are not also built like King Kong.

"Имена"(Name) The man grunts to Nick.

"Petr и Kira Ivanov." He gives Emily a brilliant smile as he brings her fingers to his lips for a quick kiss before turning back to the attendant.

As the gruff man finds their names on the guest list and waves them through, Emily allows a fleeting thought to the real Petr and Kira Ivanov: current "guests" at CIA headquarters in London. All thoughts of that nefarious couple quickly vanish; however, as the pair enters the lavish ballroom, filled with beautifully clothed criminals, gathered on the guise of a private art showing. The true purpose of this invitation only soirée is making contacts and conducting business, the kind of business that attracts the CIA's interest.

Placing his right hand in the small of her back, Nick guides his partner around the large ballroom. They both nod politely to the other party-goers, but refrain from engaging in any conversation. Rich music from a string quartet fills the room and a few brave couples have wandered onto the dance floor; however, most of the occupants stand in clusters, sipping expensive champagne and speaking in low under-tones. Everyone seems to be anticipating the arrival of their host: Tara Alkaev. A rich and charming business man, Alkaev has strong ties to the Russian Mafia. Nick and Emily were also anticipating the arrival of their host; according to rumors, Alkaev is funding the design and development of a new weapon that will revolutionize modern weaponry - which has several western countries very anxious. The NOC officers were here to substantiate that rumor.

Drawing the brunette's lithe body against his own, Nick leans in and softly nuzzles her ear. "Target at 2 o' clock."

As she snakes her arm around his waist, Emily turns slightly to her right, allowing her gaze to sweep subtly past Taras Alkaev as he walked among his guests. He was average height with a wiry build, and his dancing eyes takes in the crowded room with great interest. As he sips his champagne, he stops to converse with a few of his guests. Laughter erupts from the group as their target's infamous charm works its magic.

"Well we've found our shark. I guess now we wait."

"Not for long." The blonde agent gestures slightly with his head at the young server who approaches Alkaev with a tray of fresh drinks. After Alkaev exchanges his used flute for a full one, Nick breaks away from Emily on an intercept course with the server - never taking his eyes from the nearly empty glass.

Advancing on the slightly distracted server, Nick quickly plucks the discarded flute by the stem, along with a full glass of champagne. With a polite "Спасибо" he turns subtly from the young man, attempting to keep the empty glass from the his sight, but the man was already focused on the next cluster of guests.

The agent finds Emily in a secluded corner behind a particularly hideous sculpture, and hands her the full glass of champagne. She brings the flute to her lips for a sip and studies the room over the rim of the glass. Confident they are not on anyone's radar, the brunette sets the glass on the base of the sculpture and opens her clutch, retrieving a small package of breath strips.

"Хотели бы Вы один?" (Would you like one?)

"Вы говорите мне, что я нужен?" (Are you telling me I need one?)

Emily gives him a throaty chuckle and pulls two strips from the packet: one breath strip and one cellophane tape strip. The breath strip she places immediately on her tongue, the other strip she palms as she watches her partner bring the empty flute towards his mouth as if to take a drink. Expelling hot, moist air onto the surface of the glass, Nick exposes a perfect thumb print.

"You have the devil's own luck." She murmurs as she quickly presses her adhesive strip against the print and lifts it from the glass.

Setting his flute down next to hers, Nick pulls her body towards him, running his hands gently up and down both arms from her shoulders to her elbows. To a casual observer they look like a couple sharing an intimate moment, but Nick is shielding Emily from any curious eyes as he watches her carefully cover the print with a thin clear plastic, then attach it to her left thumb.

"Are we good?" He pulls back slightly and looks into her dark eyes. Their actions have taken less than a few minutes and no one seems to care about the couple who have stolen a few moments alone in the corner.

She gives him a wink and a sly smile as they turn to walk back into the crowd. "What the hell is that supposed to be anyway?" Emily angles her head towards the statue.

Answering with a laugh he pulls her by the wrist and guides her towards the dance floor. "А как насчет танцев?" (How about a dance?)

All thoughts of dancing; however, come to an abrupt halt when Dean's voice interrupts through Nick's earpiece. "Tom's in…go now."

Noticing the slight change in his demeanor she raises an eyebrow at her partner. Her question is answered in his gray-eyed gaze and brief nod.

"Позвольте мне освежить любовь, прежде чем мы будем танцевать." (Let me freshen up love before we dance) Giving the blonde's hand a final squeeze, she turns and maneuvers through the crowd, making her way towards the exit.

Emily saunters out of the ballroom like she owns the place, heading in the direction she knows holds Alkaev's secure office. The noise of the ballroom grows quieter as her steps take her deeper into the mansion. With her senses on full alert she silently approaches an intersection and stops suddenly at the voices coming from around the corner.

Frozen and wide-eyed, she tries to decipher the conversation, but promptly realizes the voices are fading. Flicking her tongue over her lower lip, she takes a cursory look around before edging closer to the intersection.

_Okay, you can do this. If they ask, you're just looking for the bathroom, no big deal. _

Pressing against the wall the young agent peers around the corner to her right and sees the broad backs of two large men walking away from her. As soon as the men disappear around the next corner, she makes her move.

Soundlessly Emily slips down the hall to her left, eyes never straying from her destination: the last door at the end of the hall. At her arrival, she presses an ear to the door, but is only greeted with silence. Releasing her held breath, she stretches her hand forward to touch her left thumb to the scanner and opens the door.

The office is large and softly lit by the lamp sitting on the impressive mahogany desk, which occupies a large space in the middle of the room. Exquisite art decorates the walls and leather bound books line the shelves.

_Come on Em, focus_

"Guys, I'm in." Laying down her clutch as she approaches the desk, she shuffles through what little paperwork has been left unattended. "Damn it, why can't it ever be easy?"

_Mmm… what have we here? _Emily grasps the handle of the top drawer and pulls it open, only to find assorted office accessories. The second larger drawer is locked.

"This has to be it." Holding the desk with her left hand for support, Emily bends her right leg at the knee, arches her back slightly and grasps the end of her stiletto. Giving it a sharp twist, she easily slides the lock pick from the heel and crouches before the drawer. She makes fast work of the lock and replaces the pick back into her heel.

The drawer is a small filing cabinet and she quickly begins her search. "Come on, come on. I know you're in here." Biting her lip, she thumbs through the files, scanning each page that goes by.

With a triumphant grin Emily snatches a folder and drops it on the desk, opening it excitedly. "I've got it guys."

Opening her clutch she removes a tube of lipstick and positions it above the documents she has spread across the desk. She gives the bottom of the lipstick tube a firm squeeze; a soft clicking sound emits from the tube as she quickly photographs the research and schematics of the weapon. "Shit, you're not going to believe this."

Confident she has all the evidence she needs Emily scoops up the file and returns it to the bottom drawer. With a quick glance around the room to make sure nothing looks amiss, she cautiously cracks the door to find the hallway is still empty.

With her clutch in her right hand and the lipstick held firmly in her left, the agent retraces her steps to make her way back to Nick in the ballroom.

"Стоп!" (Stop!)

The brunette had only gone a short distance when that command halts her in her tracks. _Fuck! Where the hell did he come from? _She swallows a gulp and turns slowly as a large man moves rapidly towards her, his face flushed with rage.

With an unfocused gaze, Emily staggers slightly and grabs onto the wall. **"**Могу ли я закрыть в ванной? Я не могу его найти. Я мог бы поклясться, что хороший человек сказал, что по этому залу. Может быть, я слишком много пить." (Am I close to the bathroom? I can't seem to find it; I could have sworn that nice man said it was down this hall. Perhaps I've had too much to drink.) She gives a giggle that ends in a hiccup.

Evading his grasp by stumbling to her left, she crashes into a large potted plant, dropping the lipstick into the pot. "The tube is in the plant in the hall leading to his office." The agent whispers desperately before a large hand clamps around her right arm, jerks her to her feet and drags her deeper into the mansion.

"Я нашел эту женщину, скрывающихся в прихожей, ведущей к Вам в офис. Она говорит, что ищет для ванной комнаты, что вы хотите, чтобы я с ней делать?"(I've found a woman lurking in the hall near your office. She says she's looking for the bathroom, what do you want me to do with her?) The large Russian speaks into a hand-held radio as he thrusts Emily into the clutches of another guard who has just joined them.

"Я не понимаю! Что происходит?"(I don't understand! What is going on?) The brunette exclaims indignantly as she tries unsuccessfully to wrench free from the second guard.

Emily's blood freezes in her veins at the response she hears from the radio. "Возьмите ее в моей мастерской" (Take her to my workroom**.**)

* * *

**A/N: **First of all, if you made it this far, thank you so much for reading.

Secondly, I do not speak Russian and all Russian text in this story is from Google Translator.

NOC stands for nonofficial cover and falls under the NCS (National Clandestine Service) of the CIA structure

Never fear, the rest of the team will make their entrance in chapter two.

The rating is T for now, but expect Prentiss whump in the upcoming chapters, so the rating may change.


	2. Chapter 2

"Where's Morgan and Prentiss, aren't they back yet?" Scanning the small conference room as he enters behind Rossi, Reid's gaze settles on his superior.

"No, they haven't checked in." Frowning as he looks up from his files, Hotch gives his watch a quick glance. "JJ, give Morgan a call and get an ETA. Interviewing a witness shouldn't take this long."

"If they've stopped for lunch, they better not show up here empty-handed." The blonde smirks as she slips out of the room already dialing her cell phone.

Turning back to his agents, Hotch asked. "What did you find out?"

"His latest victim was left just a few blocks from the last dumpsite." Rossi took a seat in front of the victim board JJ had set up when they first arrived at the Oklahoma City field office.

"Victimology's the same; Hannah was a 34 year old brunette, cause of death was strangulation. She had both small and large burns on her body; the small burns most likely came from a taser and the larger burns from electrodes connected to a larger power source. The ME said she was also raped, just like the last three victims." Reid attaches a picture of a smiling and happy Hannah Watts to their victim board.

"And he's started cutting." Rossi's mouth twists in distaste as he watches the young agent affix a second picture of Hannah to the board, this one of her discarded body: bloody, bruised and burned. "There were several shallow cuts on her arms and torso. He's upping the torture."

"You think he's devolving?" Hotch leans closer to the picture of their latest victim.

"If he is, then he's going to take his next victim soon, if he hasn't already." The older agent turned as JJ walked back into the conference room.

"I can't get Morgan or Prentiss on their cells. Both go straight to voicemail."

"That's odd. What do we know about this witness?" Rossi asked her.

JJ gives a brief shrug at Rossi's question. "Not much. His name is Tony Michaels and he claims to have seen a dark van in the area where Samantha Ingram's body was found." Her eyes quickly found the picture of the third victim on the board in front of her. "Agent Ortiz took his statement last week, but all he was really able to give Ortiz was a dark, American made van, probably late model. And he didn't get a good look at the driver. All he could remember was white male with brown hair."

"I sent Morgan and Prentiss to his home to do a cognitive interview. Hopefully they'll be able to get more details from him." Hotch pulled his phone from his blazer pocket and punched speed dial.

"Speak and be heard, mon capitaine."

"Garcia, I need to see if you can track Morgan and Prentiss' whereabouts."

"Oh no, what's going on with my babies?"

"We don't know if anything's going on, they just haven't checked in and their cells are going to voicemail. Just see if you can locate them. Oh and Garcia?" Hotch paused for a moment. "Get me anything you can find on our witness Tony Michaels."

* * *

Morgan takes a wobbly step and reaches his hand out to the nearby dumpster for support. Taking a deep breath he looks around the alley as he attempts to take stock of his situation. The dank alley divides what appear to be two one story businesses. There are a couple of doors leading out into the alley, but no windows, and by the amount of rotting food left in the dumpster Morgan's pretty sure the businesses must be restaurants. To his left, the mouth of the passageway beckons him but his spinning head and cramping muscles don't want to cooperate. He pats his pants with his free hand, hoping by some miracle his phone is still on him, but other than the two badges he tucked into his pocket, his effort goes unrewarded. Growling in frustration he toes at the litter in his immediate vicinity in a futile attempt to locate his phone.

Giving himself a slight push away from the dumpster, he allows the momentum to aid him in his painful shuffle towards the mouth of the alley. Every muscle screams at him, but the fog was finally lifting from his brain.

_Why didn't he kill me; why let me live? _Thoughts of the struggle in Tony Michael's house runs through his mind, and over and over he sees his partner fall, the color of blood on her face in violent contrast to the paleness of her skin.

Finally stepping out from the shadows of the alley and onto the sidewalk, Morgan shuts his eyes tight as the sun's bright rays hit his face. Unbidden, images flash behind his closed eyes: Kay Wilson, her nude body violated and broken; Tammy Clarkson, her brown hair splayed on the concrete below her, exposing dark bruises that tarnish the ivory skin of her throat. By the time the image of Samantha Ingram forces its way into his thoughts, it's Emily's face he sees on her tortured body.

The urge to vomit suddenly becomes overwhelming and he bends slowly, hands resting on his knees as he breathes deeply in an effort to calm himself. "Come on, man. This isn't helping her."

A hand touches his shoulder and a scratchy voice asks, "Young man, are you okay?"

Looking up into the concerned eyes of a stranger, Morgan shakes his head and manages a choked, "Can I use your phone?"

* * *

"Okay, here the deal. I can't trace Morgan or Emily by their cells, so either both of their phones are dead or they're turned off, which I find highly unlikely. They could also be out of range of the nearest cell tower. I was able to track the SUV's low jack and it's still at Tony Michael's house."

"They're still there?" Hotch questioned aloud, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Garcia, have you been able to find anything on Michaels?"

"Yes sir, as a matter of fact I have. Mr. Michaels is thirty-seven and was an IT consultant for a large firm there in OKC."

"Was?" JJ asked.

"Yes, was. Mr. Michaels has filed an unemployment claim, apparently he was let go eight weeks ago. And before you ask, no I haven't discovered the reason for his termination. I did find out that his wife of eight years filed divorce papers about four weeks ago."

Hotch sighed; he did not like where this was going. "Where is his wife now?"

"That's just it, I can't find her. But I did find this; throughout their marriage, there were a handful of times Amy had to seek medical treatment for injuries. Spousal abuse was suspected, but when questioned, Amy denied any abuse and she never pressed charges. I'm looking into her background to see if she has any family in town."

Reid takes a step closer to Hotch's phone and asks. "Hey Garcia, did you find a picture of Tony's wife?"

"I sure did Boy Genius. I just sent Amy Michael's DMV picture to all your phones."

"Thanks Garcia, we'll keep you posted." Hotch ends the call and brings up the picture of Amy Michaels. "She's a brunette."

"Does anybody else have a really bad feeling about this so-called witness? We profiled our unsub as a white male, thirty-five to forty-five years of age, with a recent stressor facilitated by a brunette woman in his life." Rossi's gaze takes in the rest of the team.

"For the last six weeks Tony Michaels has been dealing with the loss of his job and the end of his marriage from a woman he probably had a fair amount of control over." At Reid's comment, the unit chief grimaces as he shakes his head.

"I'd say that's a pretty good stressor." Rossi looks at Hotch with growing alarm in his eyes.

Reid nods his agreement and adds. "That loss of control and his probable proclivity towards violence could cause him to seek out other brunette women to punish, especially if like Garcia, he can't find Amy either. You know, she could be in a women's shelter."

Hotch raises his left hand slightly and says. "I think we may be getting ahead of ourselves here. We also profiled that our unsub is most likely an electrician since electric shock is his main form of torture. Tony Michaels is an IT consultant."

Rossi shakes his head. "There's something we're missing. JJ, call Garcia back and have her dig deeper into Tony's background. Have her look into past jobs, hobbies, anything that would give Tony a working knowledge of electrical theory. He would need to know about circuits, electrical controls and calculations."

"I'm on it." As JJ picks up her phone and dials, Hotch's phone begins ringing.

Looking at the caller ID, Hotch frowns at the unfamiliar number before pushing the answer button. "Hotchner."

"Hotch, the son of a bitch has Emily!"

* * *

_**Moscow July 1998**_

Taking small sips of champagne, Nick splits his focus between the ballroom's entrance and the party's host. Dean just informed him that Emily had found the documents they were looking for and was on her way back. _Just a few more minutes and we're home free. _

Dean's rushed voice in his earpiece interrupts his thoughts. "Get to the hall leading to Alkaev's office. You'll find the evidence in the potted plant."

"What?" Movement from the corner of his eye returns his focus to Alkaev who has begun a brisk march towards the exit. "Alkaev's on the move, what the hell's going on?" Nick takes a few steps towards the exit to watch the Russian's progress as he leaves the room.

"Get the evidence, then leave the building immediately."

Exiting the ballroom, Nick casually crosses the foyer and enters the hallway a discreet distance behind Alkaev. "What happened to Em?" He whispers as he slows his pace and glances quickly around.

"Just focus on what you need to do then get out of there. We'll brief you when you're back."

Keeping his ears open and his eyes on Alkaev's back as the Russian moved deeper down the corridor, Nick pauses at the first intersection then peeks around the corner. A large potted plant is located halfway down the hall and he briskly makes his way towards it. As he nears the plant he notices the leaves are askew and dirt litters the floor around the pot. Nestled in the potted plant is Emily's lipstick camera. A wave of dread hits him at the implication and the urge to tear through the mansion screaming Emily's name becomes almost unbearable.

He plucks the lipstick tube from the pot and retraces his steps back to the intersection. With a last wistful look in the direction Alkaev disappeared, the agent turns and follows the hall back to the foyer.

In the two years since Emily joined the team, no matter what kind of situation they got themselves into, they always made it back out: both of them. He knows the mission is their number one priority; they all know the risk they take every time they go undercover, but as Nick steps out into the brisk night air, he can't help but feel that he's abandoning his partner. He's leaving her for the sharks and there's blood in the water.

"Ваш билет сэр?" (Your ticket sir?) The valet nods slightly as Nick hands him the stub from his breast pocket.

Sliding into the driver's seat, he slowly brings his forehead to rest against the steering wheel. Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath and swallows the bile that's threatening at the back of his throat. A sharp honk from behind snaps his head back to attention and with a turn of the key the engine roars to life. Shifting the gear into drive, Nick leaves the mansion and his partner behind.

* * *

Being dragged by both arms between two imposing Russians was not how Emily envisioned this mission going. She had hoped to be on her way back to the smelly service van with Nick, but instead she's being forced to the "workroom" by the pair she has come to think of as, the blonde hulk and the ugly hulk. _The workroom. Shit, this is gonna suck._

"Вы знаете кто я? Отпустите меня сейчас же! "(Do you know who I am? Let me go this instant!)

Blonde and Ugly Hulk ignore her.

Emily kicks the tip of her stiletto into Blonde Hulk's calf then crouches low before springing herself sideways into the legs of Ugly Hulk. The blonde's pained grimace turns to shock as Emily's momentum pulls him after her into Ugly's legs. All three bodies end in a tumbled heap on the floor and Emily quickly untangles herself and crawls clear of both men. Getting to her feet she manages two steps when an arm snakes around her waist and she is pulled firmly against the body of one of the guards.

"Отойдите от меня!" (Get away from me!) Slamming her head backwards she hears Blonde Hulk give a choked gasp after the back of her head connects with his throat. Taking advantage of his slackened grip, Emily breaks free and turns to flee down the corridor. A G Sh-18 pistol pointed directly at her head brings her to a sudden stop. Ugly Hulk's smirk as he looked at her over the gun barrel makes her body shake with barely controlled anger.

" Ти будеш вести себя, или я стрелну тебе в колено и выбросю тебя на плечо. " (You are going to behave yourself or I am going to shoot you in the kneecap and throw you over my shoulder.)

Blonde Hulk grabs her forcibly by the arm and resumes his progression to the workroom with Ugly close behind, his pistol trained on her back. She drags her feet in an attempt to prolong the journey, but continuous nudges from the pistol keeps her moving forward. Studying the course Blonde Hulk is taking, Emily is surprised when they come to a sudden stop and the workroom door is looming in front of her. Her ragged breath sounds harsh to her own ears as the realization hits her; once she's inside that workroom she is completely on her own. The team cannot risk coming in after her.

Swiping the keycard through the door's scanner, Blonde Hulk opens the door and Ugly quickly pushes her inside. Grabbing a wooden chair to correct her balance, Emily takes her first look around the workroom.

Two wooden chairs are the only furniture she sees. The chair she is currently clinging to is sitting in front of a molding stand, which holds a large misshaped lump of clay and several stainless steel detailing tools. A small wheeled toolbox is within reach of the stand, and wood based wire armatures line the back wall.

_This is the ominous workshop? You've got to be kidding me. _Emily gives Ugly Hulk a smirk. "Ну по крайней мере я знаю кто сделал эту отвратительну скульптуру в зале. Эта штука уродливая чем вы." (Well, at least I know who made that hideous sculpture in the ballroom. That thing's uglier than you are.)

With an irritated huff, Ugly Hulk moves the chair to the center of the room and forces her to sit. Both men step back and silently glare at her. The young agent narrows her eyes and glares back.

The sound of the door opening brings everyone's attention to the man entering the room. Tara Alkaev's famous dancing eyes now have a reptilian coldness as they seem to bore holes into Emily. "Я видел тебя на вечеринкеб обнимаются с некоторыми красавчиком в углу." (I saw you at the party, cuddling with some pretty boy in the corner.)

"Почему вы это делаете? Я не понимаю почему я здесь?" (Why are you doing this? I don't understand; why am I here?)

"Кто вы? Почему ты ходишь вокруг моего дома?" (Who are you? Why were you wandering around my home?) Alkaev's severe tone was a direct contrast to the charming public persona Emily saw at the party.

"Я искала место чтобы освежиться и восхищаласъ вашым прекрасним домом. Я надеяласъ найти более скульптур как в зале. Этот кусок просто блестящый." (I was looking for a place to freshen up and admiring your beautiful home. I was hoping to find more sculptures like the one in the ballroom. That piece is just so brilliant.)

At Ugly Hulk's snort, Alkaev turns slightly and gives him a frown. Turning back to Emily he exclaims. "Фигня! Я попрошу вас еще раз, кто вы?" (Bullshit! I'm going to ask you again; who are you?)

"Кира Иванова. Я здесь с мужем Петром." (Kira Ivanov. I'm here with my husband Petr.)

"Ах, Петр и Кира Иванова. Ваша репутация мне известа, поэтому я протянул вам приглашение на етот збор." (Ah, Petr and Kira Ivanov. Your reputations are known to me, which is why I extended you an invitation to tonight's little gathering.)

She gives him a heated glare. "Ну гостеприимства вам, безусловно, не хватает. Мой муж не будет доволен тем, как за мной обращаютса." (Well your hospitality skills are certainly lacking. My husband will not be pleased with how I'm being treated.)

Emily's head suddenly snaps to the right and her left cheek burns from the backhand to her face. Blinking back at him her mouth opens in surprise and she stammers. "Почему, почему ты это сделал?" (Why-why did you do that?)

"Who are you?"

"Я не понимаю,что…" (I don't understand what…)

Emily's sentence is cut short as Alkaev leans in, grips his hand around her face like a vice, and continues in heavily accented English. "I may have never met Kira and Petr Ivanov, but I do know what they look like. You are not Kira, and that man you came here with is not Petr." Alkaev's voice becomes eerily soft as he leans even closer to Emily's face. "My dear, I'm getting really tired of repeating myself."

Emily clamps her mouth shut and glares back at him silently.

Frustrated, he releases her face from his tight grasp by giving her head a violent shove backwards and Emily barely manages to stifle a gasp at the sudden motion.

Turning back to the guards, Alkaev addresses Blonde Hulk. "Григорий, эта женщина была здесь с мужчиной. Он высокий, спортивного телосложения, светлые волосы и выглядит в конце двадцатых годов. Найди его и приведи ево сюда. хай Андрей найдит ево из наблюдених кадров, если нужно." (Grigori, this woman was here with a man. He's blonde, tall, athletic build, and looks to be in his late twenties. Find him and bring him here. Get Andrei to bring him up from surveillance footage if you have to.)

As Grigori turns to leave the room, Alkaev takes a length of rope from the tool box and hands it to Ugly Hulk. "Привяжи ее к креслу." (Tie her to the chair.)

Rope in hand, Ugly squats behind Emily's chair. "Ленка, подожди." (Lenka, wait.) Alkaev's sudden interruption catches them both by surprise.

"Stand up." Alkaev orders her.

With a confused look the brunette complies.

"Remove your dress."

Emily's eyes widen at the order, but she makes no other move.

"Remove your dress or I'll have Lenka do it for you."

She looks over her shoulder at Lenka's ugly snarl and gives a sigh of resignation. Finding the zipper on the side of her gown, she tugs it down quickly, and then slides both spaghetti straps down her arms. After a firm tug over her hips, the gown falls in a pool at her feet. Kicking the garment away with a stiletto clad foot; she stands before him wearing only a black strapless bra, panties, stockings and heels. The pendant Tom rigged still dangles from her neck.

Alkaev gives her a cold smile and gestures to Lenka. The guard's beefy hands grasp her shoulders from behind and he pushes her back down. Squatting once again, he binds her wrists to the back of the chair.

"Now my dear, you are going to tell me who you work for and why you are here, or you and your pretty boyfriend will be leaving here in pieces."

Emily meets his eyes and gives him a defiant glare. "Bite me, asshole."

* * *

_**An out-building in the middle of fucking nowhere – Present time**_

Emily is shocked out of her thoughts as a flood of frigid water is abruptly dumped over her. Sputtering and gasping for air, she tries to see through her squinted eyes as another blast of ice water hits her body from above. "Fu-Fu-Fuck!" The brunette barely gets the curse out when a third freezing torrent seems to knock all breath from her body.

With water drenched clothes clinging to her, Emily shivers uncontrollably as the piercing coldness penetrates her slim frame. Panting, she opens her eyes at the movement she feels from above.

Tony Michaels drops to Emily's lap and straddles her thighs. Using a soiled rag, he roughly wipes away the dried blood that still lingers on her face, despite the dousing she just received. "Can't have your pretty face hidden."

"Get off me you bastard!" She bucks her hips, in an attempt to dislodge Tony from her lap.

Laughing at her efforts, he rolls off of her body and crouches down next to her. "You are so beautiful." He sighs as he caresses his hand over the top of her thigh.

With one quick fluid movement Emily pulls both knees into her chest, braces her back against the wall, pivots her hips, and kicks her legs out, catching him square in the chest.

Flat on his back, Tony groans and takes a ragged breath. Holding a hand to his sternum the man struggles to his feet and gives an incredulous look at the woman who had actually managed to hurt him. But one look at her mocking smirk and rage colors his face, and with a feral growl he jerks the taser from his belt and presses it firmly into her thigh.

Searing pain courses through her body and her muscles spasm involuntarily. After what seems an eternity, Tony pulls the taser away from her leg and she struggles to control her muscles. With her chest heaving, Emily looks into the cold, dead eyes of her attacker and the smirk she tries to give him looks more like a grimace. She knows she cannot show him fear. She must make every effort to keep him off-balance. The team should know she's missing by now; she just needs to hold him off until they find her. Mustering up her energy she gives him a raspy taunt. "Hiding behind your taser Tony? How disappointing."

His eyes narrow at her comment and he angles his head to the side as he studies her. Finally a small chuckle escapes from the large man and he crouches once again at her side. "Oh my dear Emily, trust me, I will not disappoint you." Holding the taser against her abdomen, his dull, brown eyes begin to sparkle with delight as he watches Emily's body writhe in agony.

* * *

A/N: First I would like to thank everyone who read, reviewed and alerted. This is my first attempt at writing fan fiction and your support and feedback means the world to me!

I want to thank my beta lostinoblivion for her patience, support and feedback. I also want to thank Speechless97 for the Russian translations in this chapter.

Definitions:

G Sh-18: 9mm, semi-automatic Russian pistol developed in the mid 1990's. The number 18 is the magazine's capacity

Armatures: A skeletal framework built as a support on which a clay, wax, or plaster figure is contructed


	3. Chapter 3

Morgan swings his legs over the side of the hospital bed and watches as JJ paces back in forth in their small room located within the ER. She's talking quietly into her cell phone, occasionally gesturing with her left hand, but he's unable to hear her conversation. He's been here for the past couple hours, patiently enduring the tests the doctors have inflicted on him, but now his patience has worn thin. He needs to be out there, helping them find Prentiss, not stuck in a stupid hospital bed waiting for test results. He slides off the edge of the bed and as the ball of his right foot touches the ground a sharp "Stop!" brings his movement to a sudden halt.

With her left index finger pointing directly at Morgan, JJ moves closer to the bed as she finishes up her call. "Okay, keep me updated. Oh and Spence, be careful."

"Where do you think you're going?"

Morgan gives her an irritated scowl. "JJ, I think I've been more than patient…"

She gives a snort and exclaims. "Patient; so you think the last couple hours is you being patient?"

"What did Reid say?" He's decided to ignore her last remark.

"They've just arrived at Michael's property and are getting into position."

"He's not going to be there. He could be anywhere with Prentiss by now." He shakes his head in frustration.

"They know, but they still need to search his property. They might find something that will tell them where he's gone." She knows he knows this, but JJ also knows that Prentiss is all that's on his mind right now. She squeezes his arm as he huffs at her answer. "Garcia's looking into his background. Morgan we'll find where he went, and when we do, you'll be there to help take him down."

"You're damn right I will."

* * *

Looking around Tony Michaels' living room, Hotch gives a tired sigh. Coordinating with the OKC SWAT took longer than he wanted, and although logically he knew they would have never made it here in time, he still feels as if he has failed Prentiss.

The living room shows the tell-tale signs of a struggle: furniture is overthrown; books litter the ground; and glass from the broken coffee table sparkles on the floor.

Rossi crouches in the middle of the living room, eyes focused on the broken glass. "She put up a hell of a fight."

"Would you expect any less?" Hotch kneels down next to him.

"I wonder if the bastard's realized he's bitten off more than he can chew." Rossi turns to the unit chief, his eyes flashing with anger.

Hotch sighs again and tries not to think of his agent at the mercy of a sadistic unsub. "He's probably been watching us since we arrived. More specifically he's probably been watching Prentiss. He knows she is not passive and he'll see her as a challenge."

"Agent Hotchner?" Both agents look up as Agent Ortiz and the SWAT unit CO approaches them. "We've cleared all three acres of the property as well as the out-building. There's no sign of Michaels or Agent Prentiss." Ortiz looks wary as he gives Hotch the status update. "The crime scene unit should be here anytime."

"Thank you Agent Ortiz."

"Look at this." Rossi had turned away from the discussion and resumed his inspection of the room when something caught his eye. Holding up a piece of glass in his gloved hand, he turns back to Hotch. "There's blood. And look, even more on the floor over there."

"CSU is on their way, we'll have them…"

"Hotch!" Reid's shout from the back of the house cuts off their conversation. "You need to take a look at this!"

Rossi replaces the broken glass and stares for another moment at the small pool of blood on the hardwood floor. "Hang in there kiddo. We're coming."

* * *

"He didn't have the computer password protected. Of course, it wouldn't be necessary if he had the sort of control over his wife that we think he did." Reid opens a file on the laptop computer and a video appears on the screen. "This is what I wanted you to see. His computer is full of videos like this."

The first video Reid shows them features a naked, brunette woman who is gagged and cuffed to a metal bed frame at her wrists and ankles. Attached to her nipples are metal clamps and attached to each clamp is a wire that is connected to a hand cranked device located at the foot of the metal bed. The woman begins to jerk against her restraints in a panic when a hooded man suddenly enters into the video frame. The man approaches the device and begins to rapidly turn the crank, causing the woman's form to arc off the bed frame as the voltage courses through her body, her screams stifled by her gag.

Hotch narrows his eyes as he watches the video. "Is that Michaels?"

Reid looks back at Hotch and Rossi as the scene continues to play out. "No. Physically he's too small to be Tony Michaels, and there are different men in the other videos. That device the man is using is called a Dynamo and was used in the early twentieth century to trigger cars and field telephones. "

"How long does this go on?" Rossi asks, as he turns his head from the screen.

"Sixteen minutes, twenty-seven seconds. I've only given a quick look at a few of the videos but none of them are very long and electric torture figures prominently in the few I've seen, so do dark haired women."

"We still don't know where his knowledge and fascination with electricity comes from." Rossi takes a few steps away from the laptop.

Reid gestures to a box on the bed. "I also found those in his nightstand."

Hotch walks over to the box and flips through the magazines inside. "S&M and heavy bondage. Between these and the videos, it's quite a collection." He turns back to Reid and Rossi. "We'll bag this and the laptop. Turn that off Reid, we've seen enough for now."

As Reid begins packing up the laptop, all three of their phones alert them of a text message. Before he can even open the message, Hotch's phone begins ringing. "What do you have for me Garcia?"

After a slight hesitation Garcia asks. "Sir, did you find Emily?"

"No, they were already gone, so I really hope you have something for me."

"I just sent you all the address of Allison Becker, she is Amy Michaels' sister and she's local."

"Have you had any luck finding Amy?"

"No, and I don't understand, it's like she's fallen off the planet. I'm also still compiling as much background information on Tony Michaels as I can and will have that for you by the time you're back at the field office. But I haven't found any other properties belonging to him"

"Dig deep Garcia, the more information you can find, the faster we can get to Prentiss."

"I know Sir." The tech's voice had begun to tremble before she ended the call.

"Who is Allison Becker?" Rossi asked looking down at his cell phone.

"Amy Michaels' sister. I want you and Reid to go talk to her. Find out everything you can about Tony and Amy and see if you can find out where Amy is. I'll ride back to the office with Ortiz after we finish up here."

* * *

"Yeah, we're on our way back to the office now."

Morgan looks over at JJ as she's driving and talking on her cell phone. She refused to let him drive, so all he can do is listen to her one-sided conversation and try not to give into the growing panic he feels every time he thinks of Prentiss and what that bastard might be doing to her.

"Damn, what else did you find?"

He perks up at her question, and strains to hear Hotch's reply. He knows they won't find Prentiss there, but he can't give up hope that they will find something that will lead them to her whereabouts.

"His EKG was normal, so is his blood pressure. The taser burns will scab up but should fade away in a few weeks. He does have a mild concussion, probably from his fall after the initial taser attack, so we need to keep an eye on that. I guess his head's not as hard as we thought," She looks over at him and grins.

JJ was quiet for several long moments and Morgan looks over to find her studying him out of the corner of her eye.

"He's pissed and worried. And of course he blames himself."

He rolls his eyes at her comment. She doesn't understand, and he doesn't expect her to. She's a media liaison, and although she's brilliant at her job, she doesn't put her life in a partner's hands on a regular basis like he and Prentiss. There's an unspoken bond between them. He doesn't trust easily and neither does Prentiss, but in their relationship they have found a trust that goes beyond the boundaries of partnership and into a close friendship. He has never had to doubt whether she would have his back, but today, he feels like he failed to have hers.

"Okay, we should be there in about twenty minutes." JJ hangs up her cell and steals a glance at Morgan.

"They didn't find her did they?" Morgan turns his head to look out the window, refusing to meet her eyes.

"No, but we will Morgan." She reaches out to grasp Morgan's left arm, trying to get him to look at her. "Hey, are you listening to me?"

"I'm listening to you JJ, but that sick freak has Prentiss, and what am I doing right now? I'm being chauffeured around the city, instead of out there looking for her!"

"Morgan, I'm right there with you. We all are, but losing your temper isn't going to solve anything."

"You weren't there. I should have been able to protect her, but all I managed to do was drop to the floor like ton of bricks. Some partner I am." Morgan scoffed.

"You were tasered in the neck. Come on, you were interviewing a witness, how were you supposed to know he's our unsub or that he would sucker-punch you? Or in this case, sucker-tase."

"She was bleeding from her head, JJ…bad."

"Head wounds always bleed a lot, you know that. You said she put up a good fight."

Morgan nods his head.

"She's strong and she will continue fighting. And we are going to find her. So, you had better watch yourself."

He raises an eyebrow at her last comment.

"She's going to kick your ass when she hears you said she needs protecting."

Morgan gives her a small, sad smile and turns his head back to the passenger window.

* * *

Darkness tries to close in and Emily fights to remain conscience; her breathing comes to her in short pants and her muscles still quiver from her last tasing. Tony has been alternating between taser shocks and dousing her with ice cold water, but now he seems intent on talking as he paces around the room.

"I was watching you. Did you know that?"

"Oh yeah? Lucky me." Emily forces the words out between her labored breathing.

"I've enjoyed watching Agent Ortiz run around in circles, going back to the crime scenes with his agents, hoping they would find something they may have missed. And then suddenly, instead of his agents it was you. I couldn't take my eyes off of you. You were so beautiful, so confident; the consummate professional."

Tony stops his pacing and stares down at her, his eyes alight as he recalls the memory. "I knew I had to have you; to see the moment that your confidence is lost, and know that I'm the cause. When your mask of professionalism is shattered by pain and despair, it will be me who shatters it."

"How completely original, unlike any other freak I've ever seen." Emily refuses to avert her gaze, but he continues on like he never heard her.

"I followed you and Agent Morgan to my other dumpsites, and then to that café where you had dinner with the rest of your team. So, how long have you been fucking him?"

Emily blinked her eyes and gave her head a quick shake. These taser shocks must be frying her brain, did she hear him correctly? What is this freak talking about? "Fucking who?"

"Agent Morgan." His tone said the answer to her question should be obvious.

Emily's attempt to laugh fails as her body is suddenly wracked with a coughing fit. Tony watches her in amusement as she struggles to regain her composure. "He's my partner, my friend… You know what, whatever. Believe what you want; I don't care. It doesn't matter anyway."

In a flurry of movement, Tony's hand is suddenly around her throat, his face inches from hers. "It does matter Emily; your Agent Morgan is never going to find you. And in that moment, when he realizes you are forever lost to him, it will destroy him." Tony gives her a pleased smile as he continues. "I get to break both of you."

As he slowly stands back up, his look of triumph turns to confusion as he gazes down at the agent. Instead of the defeat he expects his words to bring, he sees resolve. And could this be; is that hope?

By sheer stubborn will, Emily calms her body and evens out her breathing. Looking into his confused face, she tries and fails to contain a smirk. He has no idea of the mistake he just made. He just admitted that Morgan is alive.

* * *

_**Moscow, July 1998**_

The door to the back of the van bolts open and Nick quickly jumps inside. "Do you still have an ear on Emily? What's going on?"

"Yes, we still have an ear on her; he hasn't made her remove her pendant yet. He did make her strip and had a goon tie her to a chair." Tom barely gives the younger man a glance as he replies in a tight voice. "He's figured out she isn't Kira Ivanov and is trying to find out who she works for. They're also looking for you."

"He made her strip?" Nick looks at their leader, but Dean refuses to meet his gaze.

"Has she told him anything?"

"Yeah" Tom snorts. "She said 'bite me, asshole.'"

"Goddamn it Emily." Nick's exasperation at his partner momentarily overrides his fear. "So what do we do?"

"We're doing it." Tom replies as he switches the audio feed to speaker and takes off his headphones.

The feed is quiet except for the occasional noise of skin hitting skin and grunts from Emily.

"Is he…" Nick's voice trails off as he continues to listen.

"He's letting the goon use her as a punching bag." Tom finally turns and looks Nick fully in the eyes, hazel eyes meeting gray as the younger man returns his gaze.

Nick suddenly rounds on their leader. "Damn it Dean, we have to do something! I just left her there…"

"You left her there because I ordered you to." Dean's interruption finally breaks his silence. "We cannot risk it and you know it. Do you have the evidence?"

As Nick hands over Emily's lipstick camera, he gives his boss a chilly glare. Dean's right and Nick does know it, but that doesn't make it any easier.

All three men freeze as they hear Emily cry out in pain.

"_I'm having fun, aren't you my dear?" _Alkaev's taunting voice penetrates the silence of the van.

"_I've been to better parties." _Emily's strained reply makes her teammates cringe.

"Why does she always have to be a smart ass?" Tom asks rhetorically.

"_Were you in my office? Just tell me why you're here and I'll have Lenko stop hitting you."_

"_I'm surprised you're letting Lenko have all the fun. What's the matter Taras, afraid you'll break a nail?"_

Dean rubs his face with his hands as he ponders their situation. They've been in tight ones before, but never like this. They have always made it out and he was damn proud of his team; Emily was their ace in the hole. In all his years with the agency, never has he worked with an operative with as much potential as Emily Prentiss. Trying to block out the punching that has started back up again, Dean turns to his tech specialist. "Tom, take the sedan and Nick's mic and earpiece and wait a few blocks behind Alkaev's home. Be ready to grab Emily when she makes her escape."

Both men look at Dean in shock, but it's the brunette who recovers first.

"Do you really think she'll make it out?" Tom asks softly.

Dean regards both men solemnly and then asks, "What makes Emily excel at her job?"

His two subordinates exchange a glance before they take turns listing their co-worker's skillset.

"She's fluent in at least a half a dozen languages, and she can cuss in about a dozen more."

"True. She's also a brilliant problem solver."

"She thinks quickly on her feet."

"She's brave."

"She has a remarkable intellect and memory."

"She can read a target and quickly assess most situations and adjust accordingly."

Dean, who has been nodding his head in agreement during the men's exchange, holds up his finger at Tom's last assessment. "That's an important one."

"She's hot."

Tom rolls his eyes at Nick. "You would say that."

Dean smiles slightly at his men. "Actually that's also a valid point. How many missions have been successful because our target was either distracted my Emily's looks or more importantly they underestimated her? Being underestimated; that's one advantage Emily has always been able to use in her favor."

"Yeah, the poor saps never see it coming." Nick gives Tom a fierce look as he hands him the keys and his earpiece. "It should be me going back there."

"True, but they haven't seen my pretty face." Tom reaches out to grasp the door handle before turning back to his teammates. "Let's hope this Russian asshole underestimates our girl and doesn't live to tell the tale."

* * *

A/N – Thank you so very much to everyone who has read/reviewed/alerted.

I apologize for the delay in getting this chapter completed; real life took a turn into the crapper!

A humungous thank you to my beta lostinoblivion; you are amazing and inspiring.

Stay tuned for chapter 4, things are about to get dicey!


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N – I have changed the rating for this story to M.**

_**Moscow, July 1998**_

The sounds of her panting fills the room as she leans forward in her chair as far as her bonds will allow; her chin rests on her chest, her dark hair a curtain around her face. This wasn't the worse beating Emily's ever taken and she's mildly surprised by that; she wonders briefly if Lenka has a taken a liking to her. Her errant thought causes her to snicker and Alvaev frowns in her direction.

Alkaev orders Lenka to leave and Emily raises her head slightly to watch him go. She, Alkaev and the oppressive heat are the only ones left in the room. Although in introspect, the heat was probably radiating from her tender and abused body. She spits out a mouthful of blood and glares up at the Russian.

"Are you finally going to do your own dirty work Taras? I was beginning to think watching got you off."

He stands in silence as he studies her and she forces herself not to squirm under his scrutiny. Finally turning away, he removes his dinner jacket and drapes it carefully over the back of the other chair. Turning back to Emily he loosens his tie and unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt.

Her body stills at the implication. "You do know you're not my type, right?" Her attempt at a joke sounds hollow, even to her own ears.

Ignoring her, he reaches into his shirt and pulls out a round pendant; holding it up for her to see, he points at the engraved figure. "Do you know what this is?"

"The Roadrunner?" She asks with mock innocence.

"A phoenix; it's my talisman." He pulls the necklace over his head and walks to his toolbox. "I came from nothing and I rose through the ranks." He pulls a lighter and a leather glove from one of the drawers. "I did whatever was needed to get where I am now. Nothing was beneath me, I was a machine." He slips the glove onto his left hand and dangles the pendant from his gloved grip. "And now, I am no longer that poor kid from the streets. I am rich and powerful. People fear me." He flicks the lighter and holds the flame under the pendant. "And I will not let some stupid, little girl ruin everything I built."

As the pendant begins to glow red, Alkaev quickly steps forward, drops the lighter and strikes Emily in the face. Her head snaps back and fresh blood flows freely from her nose, but that pain is instantly overshadowed as the pendant is pressed onto her hip. Her vision goes white. The searing pain, the sizzle of her flesh and the smell of burnt skin is the sole center of her awareness. Nothing else exists. Her face contorts in agony and a primal scream escapes her mouth, until finally she slips into blessed darkness.

* * *

_**An out-building in the middle of nowhere – current time**_

The clattering coming from the corner of the building jolts Emily awake. After Tony inadvertently told her that Morgan was alive, he had promptly fled from the look of hope, scorn and pity that had flitted across Emily's features. Although his return has interrupted what little rest she could manage, she can't stifle her curiosity as she watches him tinker in the corner of the room, just barely in her line of sight. She also notices, with dismay, the large buckets lined up against the wall and her body shivers at the thought of more ice water being dumped on her already cold, wet body.

_I must have really been out of it, if he managed to drag in four buckets of water without waking me. _Judging by the state of dampness of her clothes, she guesses he's been gone for about an hour and she wonders how close her team is to finding this place.

Hunger pangs gnaw at her belly and she flicks her tongue over dry lips. _Maybe I should open my damn mouth the next time he dumps water over me. _She bends her head towards her shoulder, hoping to suck some moisture from her shirt, but her arms chained behind her back causes her shoulders to droop out of reach of her mouth.

Her movement catches Tony's attention and she watches as he rolls some sort of control box to the center of the room. Her eyes narrow at the two long leads coming from the contraption and sudden trepidation fills her as she realizes that this is what caused the major burns on the victims. The taser gun will seem like child's play in comparison.

Tony crouches down next to the box and tenderly caresses it, like he would a lover. "Do you know what this is?"

Tony's voice is low and dangerous and she feels the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Emily decides that for now, silence is wise and she merely stares back at him as he gives her a smirk.

"No smart comeback? I see you're starting to learn."

He leans over to grab a cord with a standard plug and holds it up for Emily to see. "This control box plugs into an outlet." He points with the plug to the general vicinity on her right. As Emily looks to where he's pointing, she notices an outlet along the wall. Even more alarming are a pair of cuffs hanging from a chain a few feet above the outlet.

_How the hell did I miss that? _ Her eyes widen slightly and she finally manages to tear her gaze from the cuffs back to Tony.

"The electricity flows through the control box and into the leads. With this, I can adjust the voltage." He gives the control box a fond pat before he picks up the leads.

"Now pay attention Emily, this is the part that pertains to you. It's also the most fun." He flashes a quick grin as he continues.

He holds up the ends of the two leads. "These are the electrodes. Do you know what they are made of?"

She stares at him blankly, refusing to show a reaction.

"Emily, when I ask you a question, I expect an answer! Do you know what these are?"

"No." She replies quickly.

"Good girl." Emily grimaces at his patronizing response as she recognizes his attempt to gain back the upper hand he lost to her earlier.

"They're steel wool scrubbers; what you might use to wash your pots and pans with. First I get them both wet." He holds up the electrode in his right hand. "I'll insert this one into your vagina and plug in the control box. Then I'll move this electrode to different areas around your body." He holds up the second electrode and Emily notices that this one is attached to a wooden handle. "You get to feel the current flow through your body between the two electrodes. And the fun part is you'll be blindfolded, so you'll never know where I'm going to move the second electrode." Tony's gaze lingers hungrily on her breasts and it doesn't take a genius to know where that second electrode will spend most of its time.

"Although, preparing you for the treatment is half the fun."

She knows he want her to ask, but she keeps her silence, never taking her eyes off his face.

"You see, I need to soften you up before I insert the first electrode."

Emily empties her mind and forces her breathing to stay even. _Don't show him fear. The minute you do he's won. _She was recruited by the CIA after graduate school. She was trained for situations like this; but she knows from her own past, that training can never totally prepare you for the real life experience.

"But that's what leads to our climax; we still have plenty of foreplay before you're ready for that." Tony stands from his crouch and Emily only just stops herself from reacting to the erection pressing against his pants. She quickly averts her eyes from his crotch as he wheels his torture device back to the corner of the room.

Picking up a bucket on his way back, Emily barely has time to react as the frigid water drenches her body and his taser is once again pressed against her. Her limbs are still quaking from the pain of the stun when she suddenly feels his weight on her lap and the coldness of metal pressed to her throat.

Blinking the water from her eyes, she peers up at him. His legs straddle her thighs and although she cannot see the knife at her neck, she can feel the pinch of the blade that her brief movement causes.

His cold eyes bore into hers before he abruptly leers down at her body. His knife follows his gaze and with a few flicks of the blade, he cuts the buttons from her blouse. He pushes the garment back onto her shoulders, and his mouth latches to the top of her right breast, biting down hard. Emily gasps in pain and makes a feeble attempt to dislodge him, but her failing strength only manages to anger Tony instead of impeding him. Grabbing a handful of hair at her crown, Tony slams Emily's head against the wall behind her. A coppery taste fills her mouth as her teeth cut into her lip.

Her dazed expression satisfies Tony that she will no longer struggle; with swift strokes he cuts his knife through the center of her bra, pushes it and her blouse over her shoulders and down her arms as far as the chains will allow.

His eyes take on a predatory gleam as they rake over her bare breasts and the urge to cause her pain consumes him. The knife's edge bites into the skin below her left collarbone and she sucks in her breath with a sharp hiss. Blood gathers in the cut and Tony stares transfixed as it pools before falling into a trail down her chest. When the first drops reach the curve of her breast, he pounces, tongue lapping at the blood on her skin.

Panting hard as he pulls away from her breast, he tucks the knife into his belt and removes himself from her lap. Running his hand down her leg, he stops at her boot and gives it a firm tug, pulling her sock off with it, then repeats the motions with her other foot. With the same efficiency he removes her pants, and throws them in a pile with her socks and boots.

Skimming his fingertips along the bare skin of her legs, Tony finally reaches the last piece of her clothing. Emily squirms in an attempt to move away, and he pulls her firmly against him, holding her in place. Focusing his attention back to the task of removing her panties, he gives a slight pause as he notices a burn mark on her right hip.

"What is this?" He mummers as he bends over her for a closer look.

The burn is round and the size of a quarter and in the center is what appears to be a bird taking off in flight.

Tony looks up at Emily and gives her a half-smile. "You branded a bird into your hip? That's not something I would expect from an uptight FBI agent."

Emily struggles to ignore both the throb in back of her skull and the sting of the knife slice as she tries to formulate a sentence, forcing the words out with a pain-filled rasp. "It's a-a phoenix. It was the talisman of the man…"

"The man? What man? What are you talking about Emily?"

"The man who did this. He-he branded it into my hip after he captured me."

Tony sits back on his heels, his eyes wide as he looks from Emily to her phoenix tattoo. He reaches out his hand and tentatively touches the scar. "Some guy did this to you? I don't understand; why were you his captive?" His brows furrow as he looks up at Emily again, trying to grasp what she is telling him.

She hesitates briefly as she looks into his trouble face. "Did you actually think you were special?" she sneers at him. His shock at her previous capture has put some spirit back into her. "You're not. I've seen so many like you in my years with the FBI; men who get off on controlling women and watching them suffer. This guy, he wasn't a sexual sadist. He was just a powerful bastard, who intimidated lots of people, and killed lots of people. He always got what he wanted…well almost always."

She watches him with interest as he processes this information. She knows his narcissistic tendencies will make it difficult for him to comprehend that someone had gotten to her before him; that he's not the first one to try and break her.

"Almost always?"

Emily smirks at his question; she has definitely thrown him off his game. "So, do you think you'll share his fate?"

"His fate?" Tony whispers as he moves his fingers away from her scar.

Smiling coldly at him, she replies. "Well, I'm here and he's not."

* * *

"What do you think he means by that?" Rossi looks at Morgan with the barest hint of a smile on his face that the rest of the team doesn't notice; Morgan pretends not to.

"Yeah, that's kind of vague, 'you're going to know how it feels.' Are you sure that's what Michaels said?" JJ places a large cardboard box in the middle of the table and begins pulling out Styrofoam boxes from inside.

Morgan grabs his dinner and gives an exasperated sigh. "Yes I'm sure that's what he said and no I don't know what he means. How am I supposed to know that? It doesn't make any sense to me either." He opens up his container and stares at his sandwich. What did that bastard mean?

"Maybe he thinks you and Prentiss are in love." Reid takes a bite of his chicken salad sandwich, not noticing that the room had fallen silent. Looking up to grab his bag of chips, he suddenly realizes that every person in the room is staring at him in shock, except for two. Rossi's expression is thoughtful and Agent Ortiz seems mildly amused.

Reid swallows his bite quickly and continues. "What I mean is…um, to an outsider, your behavior could look like…"

"Like what?" Morgan presses the younger agent with a scowl.

"Like you're more than friends." Reid finishes hastily before he ducks his head and takes another bite of his sandwich, avoiding Morgan's eyes.

"The kid has a point, I could understand someone mistaking you two for a couple." Rossi gives a slight shrug as Hotch shoots him a warning glance.

"Oh come on man, we don't act like a couple." Morgan scoffs at Rossi, but JJ gives him a snort. "Well, we don't." He insists, his eyebrows drawn in irritation.

"I guess it's not that you act like a couple, although, sometimes you do. It's more about how you look at each other. You don't even speak out loud sometimes, you just give each other a look and an entire conversation seems to pass between you." JJ turns serious as she explains this to Morgan. "Then there are the little touches, the teasing and other little things that add up to the fact that someone could misinterpret your relationship if they didn't know you like we do."

He takes a bite of his club sandwich and tries to think about what the team has said. Well, most of the team; Hotch has been conspicuously silent on the subject. But as everyone quiets down to eat, all Morgan can think about is that Prentiss should be here. She should be sitting next to him, eating her usual turkey and swiss on whole wheat with a side of jalapeño chips. He smiles at the thought that she always steals his pickle – and Reid's too. He's never upset by it, although he likes to pretend to be. It gives him the opportunity to call her pickle breath for at least a good thirty minutes.

The sandwich is suddenly like sawdust in his mouth, and he pushes the Styrofoam box away. Even his soda tastes flat and Morgan twists his mouth in distaste as he rubs his hand across his chest. Heartburn; this always happens when he eats this late, and Prentiss always gives him crap for it. He grimaces as another wave of pain spreads across his chest. _Oh, she would love this. _He can see her big toothy grin; her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. He takes a deep breath attempting to subdue the third wave of pain.

"Are you okay?" Hotch asks him.

Looking up he notices the team is looking at him, and Morgan realizes he has groaned out loud. No, he's not okay; his partner is missing. The pain is back again and suddenly Morgan realizes: this isn't heartburn. Prentiss' absence is causing him physical pain.

Hotch is still looking at him, concern softening his features, and Morgan mutters, "Yeah…heartburn."

The unit chief studies him for a moment longer, before nodding his head, turning to Rossi. "What did you find out from Allison Becker?"

"Well, first of all, she won't tell us where Amy is. Only that she's safe and she doesn't want Tony to find her. She did say that she will call Amy to let her know that we want to talk to her and I told Allison if Amy did not contact us by the morning, we will arrest her under a material witness warrant to find Amy's location

"What about her marriage to Tony?" Hotch asks. "Did Allison have any insights about their relationship?"

"She said Amy only brought up a few things about their relationship over the years, and that was usually after Allison pushed her for information after her injuries. Amy admitted to her that Tony caused the injuries, but she always insisted they were accidents. Allison didn't believe her."

Reid sets his sandwich down and picks up the conversation from Rossi. "Allison said she never liked the way Tony controlled her, and things became much worse after he lost his job, to the point where even Amy had had enough."

Morgan tilts his head and looks at Reid. "Does she know why he lost his job?"

"Yeah, a former female subordinate was threatening to file suit against Michaels and the company. She alleged that Michaels intimidated her into a sexual relationship. She also said he would sometimes bind and gag her and would often become aggressive during sex. Apparently, Michaels had convinced his boss that she was a disgruntled ex-employee and that he had never touched her, but then three other women came forward with the same complaint. And that wasn't the first time he's had issues at work. On a few occasions Michaels got into it with some of his co-workers. Apparently he had trouble working with others, but nothing really major until these women came forward."

"And that's when he was fired?" Ortiz asks.

Rossi shook his head slightly. "When Michael's boss confronted him with the additional allegations Michaels still claimed everything was consensual. His boss then pressed the fact that four different women were accusing Michaels of using intimidation to force them into a sexual relationship and he was having a hard time believing that it was consensual. At that point Michaels became outraged and threatened his boss. Security was called and he was fired and escorted from the building."

"What about any additional properties he might have in the area?" Hotch looks over at the older agent, just as his phone begins to ring.

"No, Allison didn't know of any other properties."

Hotch suppresses a sigh and places his phone on the table. "Go ahead Garcia, you're on speaker."

"Okay crime fighters, I've dug up some dirt on Tony Michaels. First of all, his mother left his father and Tony when he was five years old. She moved to Oregon, and from what I can tell, she never came back to visit Tony."

"Who just leaves their child behind like that?" JJ asks, not bothering to hide her disdain.

"Well, his mother was diagnosed as bi-polar, although back then they called it manic-depressive disorder. She went through several different treatments and medications during her marriage to Jacob Michaels, including electric shock therapy."

Rossi raises his eyebrows and glances around the room. "Well that's interesting considering Michaels' favorite mode of torture."

"But if Michaels never really knew his mother, I doubt he would have known about the treatment." Hotch begins pacing around the room.

"Guys, you're getting ahead of me here. Jacob Michaels was an electrician, he never remarried and he raised Tony Michaels on his own. By all accounts Tony was a bright boy. His school records show he made good grades, but they also show lots of disciplinary notations as well. He was suspended from school several times for fighting and bullying his classmates, and he was disruptive in class. This behavior continued through his teen years. It looks like he never participated in any extra-curricular activities at school."

"His father was an electrician?" Hotch's lips formed a thin line, knowing what the answer was going to be.

"Yes sir, Jacob Michaels died of a heart attack three years ago."

"What about juvenile records, baby girl? Did you find anything there?"

"No my sweet, nothing. He was suspended twice in high school for theft, but no charges were ever filed. After high school, Tony worked at his father's electric company part-time while he attended the University of Oklahoma, where he earned a degree in computer science."

"There's where he got his hands-on experience with electricity." Morgan looks over at Hotch, who is still pacing the room.

"After college he landed an entry level job at a small firm in OKC. He had a couple of small promotions in the four years he was there, but nothing really significant. He then applied and was hired by Laurus Industries and has worked there for the past ten years, until his resent firing."

Hotch stops his pacing, placing both hands on his hips. "Garcia, Allison Becker told Rossi and Reid that four women, who worked with Michaels at Laurus, came forward accusing him of coercing them into having sex with him. One of them was threatening to sue. We need to know who they are and where we can find them. First thing tomorrow we divide up and interview them. Maybe wherever he took them for their encounters is where he's holding Prentiss."

Morgan stands abruptly, knocking over his chair. "So what, we're giving up?"

"No, we're taking a break."

"Hotch!"

"Thank you Garcia, that's all." Hotch calmly picks up his phone from the table and turns to face his agitated agent.

"Morgan, right now we don't have a lot to go on, and I don't see that changing in the next few hours. We're all tired, frustrated and anxious. Just a couple of hours ago, you were in the hospital and you have a concussion. If we keep going on like this, we're going to miss something, and that won't do Prentiss any good. We'll come back here early in the morning with new leads, either from the four women, or hopefully from Amy Michaels."

Morgan opens his mouth to protest, but is cut off by Rossi. "We'll find her Morgan." His voice is strong with conviction.

With one final glance at his teammates, Morgan shakes his head and leaves the room, his hand absentmindedly rubbing his chest.

* * *

As she shifts her body into a more comfortable position, Emily winces slightly at the sharp sting the movement causes from the cut on her upper chest. Looking down her body she notes the bleeding has stopped and she stares numbly at the dark stain against her bare skin. After several long moments she gives herself a mental shake. Now is not the time to shut down, she'll have plenty of time for that when she's out of this hell.

Emily focuses her attention on Tony as he paces around the room like a caged animal and an overwhelming relief comes over her when she notices he no longer has an erection. "So, who was she? Was she your wife or your girlfriend? Or was she your mother?"

Tony stops short at her questions and gives her quizzical look. "What are you talking about?"

"Who left you Tony? Who took away your control?"

"Shut up!" Tony's face turns an impressive shade of red and he takes two quick steps towards Emily.

With a small smile Emily looks up at Tony. "That's what I thought. So…why electricity? Why does that get your juices going?"

"I said shut up!"

Fully expecting another taser shock, she is stunned when the back of his hand connects with her cheek bone and she is unable to stop herself from gasping in pain. As Tony looms over her, Emily pulls her knees to her chest and instinctively curls into as much of a ball as the chains will allow. She senses Tony's movement around her, but she continues to make herself as small as possible.

Suddenly the cuff falls from her left wrist; then the right, and as she opens her eyes at this unexpected revelation, she finds herself being dragged off the mattress and across the concrete floor. Tony hauls her to her feet, rips her shirt and bra off her arms and lifts her right arm into the air. Looking up in confusion Emily sees he's about to cuff her to the chains hanging from the ceiling. She bends her knees to put as much distance between her and the cuffs as she can, but Tony immediately grabs her under her arms, lifts her back up and presses her against his body. His left arm moves to encircle her waist and holds her in place against him. Once again her arm is lifted towards the cuff, and this time it finds its home around her right wrist. Releasing his grip from her waist, he steps back slightly and cuffs her left wrist.

From his back pocket Tony pulls out a dirty rag and moves to stand behind her. Placing the rag over her eyes he knots it in place and then navigates around her to admire his handy work.

Suspended by her wrists, toes barely touching the ground, she is a masterpiece. A vision in white, black and red and he revels in the colors. Her raven hair, the black blindfold and black satin panties are complemented by the red gash on her forehead, the red cut and dried blood on her chest, her rosy nipples and the small red burns from his taser. He delights in the fact that even her toenails are painted red. The two colors contrast beautifully with her pale skin.

He is pulled from his admiration by Emily's sudden chuckle.

"What's so funny?"

"You. Do you honestly think that I will just lay back and beg and scream while you torture and rape me? I killed the last man who tried this with me. Will you bleed out with a bullet in your throat like he did? Or maybe I'll just snap your neck. "

Tony stares at the brand peeking above the waist band of her panties for several long moments before turning to the buckets lining the far wall. Hefting one to his shoulder, he returns to Emily and dumps it over her head. Ignoring her gasp, he replaces the bucket and picks up a length of black rubber hose.

He approaches her silently, squeezing the hose in his grasp as he decides where to make the first strike. A sudden sharp hit to the abdomen takes Emily by surprise and her body recoils at the impact. Water sprays off her skin where the hose makes contact and he smiles as she bites down on her lip with a grunt.

As he circles her body, his smile widens as he sees her tense in anticipation of the next blow. In quick succession he clubs the back of her left thigh and her lower back.

Emily slowly feels the energy drain from her body as Tony's methodical beating continues. Once again she tastes copper as her teeth finally pierce the skin of her bottom lip, but other than a few grunts, she never gives him the satisfaction of crying out.

Finally, her legs collapse beneath her and she dangles from her wrists as the blows continue to rain down. She no longer reacts; her mind is shutting down from fatigue and even the increasing pain in her wrists, arms and shoulders elicits no response.

Lowering his arm that's poised for another strike, Tony takes a shallow breath, drops the hose and watches Emily as she hangs listlessly, swaying gently in the chains. He's uncertain if she is still conscious and he grabs her by the hair and holds her head up.

"Hey, are you still with me?" He nudges the blindfold up and looks into her dark eyes, clouded with fatigue. But underneath the fatigue is still the spark of defiance. With a sharp hiss, he releases his grip and backs up, shaking his head as Emily manages to keep her chin up as she refuses to avert her gaze. His narrowed eyes turn incredulous as he watches her determined effort to get back on her feet.

With a snarl of fury, he releases her wrists and watches as she drops to the floor. "You're not as strong as you think you are!"

Emily winces as his hand tangles in her hair and she is suddenly yanked across the floor and back onto the soggy mattress. Blinking back the involuntary tears her stinging scalp has caused, she groans as her arms are forced behind her back and she is chained to the wall once more.

Closing her eyes she leans back, her head resting against the wall, and listens to the sound of Tony's movements around her. His sudden weight on her lap causes her to grunt and snap her eyelids open, focusing on his cold eyes. She sees the flash of his knife in her peripheral vision, but refuses to break from his stare. Emily bites the inside of her cheek as the knife slices into her shoulder.

Tony leans in close and Emily flinches at his breath on her ear. "I hope you're enjoying the foreplay. Rest up Emily, tomorrow's the climax."

* * *

**A/N 2 – Once again thank you to everyone who is still following this story. I appreciate your support more than I could adequately express. You all make my day!**

**A humongous thank you to the brilliant lostinoblivion for keeping me on track. **

**The end is in sight folks! **


	5. Chapter 5

The night had been difficult; the desperation to find their colleague and friend weighed heavily on all of them and as seven AM rolled around, it was a tired but determined team that entered the FBI field office.

Agent Ortiz was already there and greeted them anxiously, phone in hand. "I was about to call you. Amy Michaels just walked in. She says she wants to talk to Agent Rossi and the BAU." Ortiz held up Rossi's card that had been given Allison Becker the previous night. "She's waiting for you in the conference room."

"We'll talk to her." Hotch gestures to himself, Rossi and JJ. "The two of you go get some coffee." He looks pointedly at Morgan, who holds up his hands in surrender and stalks after Reid towards the break room.

"All we need from her is a location; she needs to understand that she is not in danger and we don't want to pry into her personal business." He looks at JJ as they stride down the corridor towards the conference room. "You're probably going to be our best chance."

JJ nods her understanding as she enters the room and takes her first look at Amy Michaels. Sitting at the large table, she looks small and frightened; her dark hair hangs limp to her shoulders, her face drawn and tired. Hazel eyes dart to the agents as they enter the room and she stands to face them.

"Mrs. Michaels?" JJ approaches Amy, her hand outstretched in greeting.

Accepting JJ's hand Amy nods slightly, not quite meeting JJ's gaze. "Amy, please."

"Hi Amy, I'm Jennifer Jareau, and these are Agents David Rossi and Aaron Hotchner."

Amy cautiously extends her hand to Rossi and Hotch while addressing the air in Rossi's general vicinity. "My sister said that you needed to talk to me about Tony."

"We do Amy; please sit down." Rossi tries to give her a reassuring smile and gestures her back to her seat as they join her at the table.

"I don't like talking about Tony, and I'm not sure how I can help you. Allison said he's been killing women?" She glances briefly at JJ and the agent nods her head. "Is it because of me?" She whispers, her hand covers her mouth in shock. "Is it my fault Tony killed those women?"

"Amy, it's not your fault." JJ reaches for her hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. "Tony's not well and I think you know that." She watches as Amy drops her gaze to her lap and nods her head. "I know he's done terrible things to you, and I know you don't want to talk about it. And you don't have to talk about that, okay. We just need to ask you if there's any place you can think of that Tony might take these women."

Amy raises her head and frowns. "I don't know; we never went anywhere…" She raises her hand and covers her eyes, shaking her head slowly.

"It would be here in Oklahoma City, and it would be somewhere secluded; he would need privacy for what he's doing." Hotch's eyes narrow as he watches her growing agitation and gives JJ a subtle look.

She reaches out and lightly and touches Amy's arm. "Is a place coming to mind? Is that what's upsetting you?"

Amy drops her hand and tears spill down her cheeks as she focuses her attention on the far wall. "Scott's place, he's probably at Scott's place."

"Scott?" Rossi leans forward slightly and pulls his notebook and Montblanc pen from his pocket.

"Scott Price. He and Tony have been friends since they were kids. Actually, Scott is Tony's only friend. When Scott's company transferred him to San Antonio a couple of years ago, Tony offered to maintain Scott's property since he wasn't going to sell it."

"Where is Scott's property Amy?" JJ presses.

"It's at Arcadia Lake. Tony has never taken me there, so I don't know exactly where."

Hotch and Rossi abruptly stand and Hotch begins dialing Garcia as the older agent addresses Amy. "Mrs. Michaels, you've been a big help to us, and you have my word that Tony will never bother you again."

JJ gives her arm a squeeze as the two men turn and stride out of the room. "He's right; you did good."

Wiping the moisture from her face, Amy finally looks JJ fully in the eyes. "Allison said he took one of your agents."

Sitting up a little straighter her hand drops away from Amy's arm. "Yes, he has."

"Do you think she's still alive?"

Her eyes begin to burn and JJ swallows the lump at the back of her throat. "I have to believe that she is."

"What did she say?" Morgan advances on Hotch and Rossi the moment they entered the break room. He understands why he couldn't be in the room with Tony's wife, but the wait has been agonizing.

"She said his friend has property on Arcadia Lake that Tony has access to. Garcia's getting an address for us now and Agent Ortiz is coordinating with his other agents. We go as soon as Garcia gets us an address." Turning to his youngest agent Hotch asks. "Reid, do you know where Arcadia Lake is?"

"Arcadia Lake is a reservoir just northeast of Oklahoma City. The lake has a surface area of 1,820 acres and about twenty-six miles of shoreline. The lake was created in 1987 by an…"

"Thank you Reid." Hotch interrupts to answer his ringing phone. "Garcia, you're on speaker."

* * *

_**Moscow, July 1998**_

"There you are. Come on my dear."

Emily feels a sharp tapping on her cheek and she groans in protest. The fierce pain at her hip reminds her of where she is and what's been done to her and white-hot rage courses through her body. This thug has had her detained, beaten and then burned a fucking bird into her hip; this ends now.

She opens her eyes slightly and squints up at Alkaev, taking note that he is still the only other person in the room. "How long have I been out?" Her voice comes out as a croak, and she attempts to clear her throat.

"Just a few minutes." He smiles as Emily once again closes her eyes and lets her head droop forward to her chest. "Are you ready to talk? Or would you like me to add a phoenix to your other hip?"

"Yes." She whispers.

"What's that dear? I couldn't hear you."

Emily raises her head and sags back in her chair as she looks up at him with pain-filled eyes. "Yes, I'm ready to talk."

With a broad smile, Alkaev leans over Emily, his face inches from hers. "Good girl."

She pulls her face away from his in disgust and without hesitation, she makes a sudden change in momentum that forces her upper body forward and she slams her forehead into Alkaev's face. Elation fills her as she hears bones crunch and she watches with satisfaction as he cries out and stumbles a step backwards, clutching his nose in an effort to staunch the bleeding.

Adrenaline pumps through Emily's veins, taking with it the pain of her injuries. Bringing her right knee up off the chair, she extends her leg out in a quick snap that forces her stiletto heel into his groin. With a loud drawn-out moan Alkaev drops to his knees in front of her; one hand still clutching his nose as the other gingerly cups his groin. With a smirk, Emily kicks her leg out again and this time the ball of her shoe catches him under the chin as the stiletto connects with his throat and Alkaev falls onto his side coughing and gasping for air.

"Guys, you better be paying attention because I'm getting the fuck out of here!" Emily is confident the mic in her pendant still works; she just needs to get herself out of this room.

With one eye on Alkaev, still gasping on the floor, Emily tests the ropes that bind her wrists to the wooden chair. There is a little give, but not enough for her to wiggle free. Her eyes scan the room quickly as she contemplates her next move. The floor is tiled; the walls, painted sheet rock. Her gaze falls on the wire armatures and she wonders if they will fray the ropes if she could get close enough.

A quick glance back at Alkaev shows he is attempting to even out his breathing, and it wouldn't be long before he was back on his feet. _It's now or never._

Raising herself slightly to her feet, bringing the chair with her, she makes a small hop towards the armatures and loses her balance. The chair lands hard on all four legs and Emily drops back onto the chair with a loud grunt; the impact rattles her teeth.

With a deep breath, she focuses her concentration and manages two small hops and comes to a stop. She pauses for a moment, takes another deep breath and makes another successful hop, spurring her to add another. The last hop is off-balance; however, and she totters dangerously before she crashes violently to the floor, the chair clattering against the tile.

"Damn it." She groans as she feels splintered wood scrap her arms and legs. As she moves in an attempt to get back to her feet, she is suddenly aware that her right wrist is loose. Emily stares in shock at the broken slat dangling from the rope tied to her wrist. "It's about time I caught a break." Twisting her body around she pulls at the other weakened slats with her free hand until they give, freeing her completely from the chair, and she quickly untangles herself from the wood.

Stumbling across the room to the other chair, she grabs the dinner jacket draped over the back; a quick search of the pockets produces Alkaev's keycard and a gun. She gives a soft whistle as she admires his hardware. "A PB Silent Pistol with an integral suppressor; just what I always wanted." She slides the safety lever to the fire position.

Movement to her left catches her eye and she turns to find Alkaev pulling himself onto all fours. Advancing on the man, she gives him a swift kick to the stomach and shoves him back to the ground with her stiletto.

Snatching her dress from the floor, she shimmies it back on and zips up the side before striding to the door. The door is steel in a steel frame and Emily presses her ear against it, closes her eyes and concentrates. No noise comes from the other side, but Emily holds her position for several long moments. Her scuffle with Alkaev and the chair hasn't drawn any attention, so either the room is soundproof or there is no one outside the door. Emily's bet is on the former; she seriously doubts Lenko has gone very far.

A brief rustle of clothing was all the warning she had before Alkaev slams into her body, knocking her to the ground. A loud grunt escapes her lips as she lands sprawled on her stomach, the gun and keycard skating across the floor. Rolling onto her back, Emily regards the Russian standing at her feet, scowling down at her.

"You are going to…"

His words are cut off as Emily abruptly sweeps his legs causing him to crash to the ground. Scuttling on her hands and knees to the dropped gun, Emily grabs the pistol in her right hand, plants herself on the floor and turns quickly; gun out in front of her ready to fire at her attacker. Except, he wasn't attacking her; instead of pursuing Emily, Alkaev had made his way to the toolbox and was rummaging through the top drawer.

Gasping for breath, she keeps her gun trained on Alkaev as she calls out to him. "Hey, Taras…" She stops suddenly as Alkaev pulls a black snub-nose revolver from the drawer and turns quickly towards her, a smug look on his face; but before he could even take aim, Emily squeezes the trigger twice and Alkaev falls backwards in a spray of blood.

Scooping up the keycard with her left hand, Emily keeps the gun aimed at Alkaev as she slowly stands and treads silently towards him. At her approach, she stops and kicks the dropped revolver to the corner of the room and looks down at the man who had so cruelly marked her flesh.

One of the bullets had penetrated Alkaev's throat and his hands try desperately to stop the flow of blood spilling from the gaping wound. Emily regards him impassively as his wide eyes seek out hers; fear and pain warring in those eyes until finally the light goes out and his arms go limp.

With a shaking hand she drops the gun to her side and takes a ragged breath as she stumbles to the exit. Leaning her frame against the cold steel door, Emily musters her strength and courage. "Alkaev is dead and I'm leaving the workroom now. I'll make my way to the back exit."

With a swipe of the card, she quickly opens the door, steps into the hall and confronts a surprised Lenko. His shocked face would have been comical if he wasn't reaching for his gun. A bullet between his eyes stops his progress, and Emily is on the move before he even hits the ground.

Scanning her surroundings she notes her position and where she is in relation to the back exit. If she remembers the floor plans correctly, and she's pretty sure she does, she doesn't have that far to go. As she silently creeps through the back halls, she notes that they are eerily barren; the party must be close to winding down and the guards overseeing their guest's departures. She hopes Dean and Tom are still in the surveillance system and she can leave this house undetected. The back exit beckons as she turns into the last corridor and picks up her pace, and with one final swipe of Alkaev's keycard; Emily is free.

The night is crisp and clear as she steps into the alley and in the air the smells of cooking and rotting garbage mingles in her senses. Emily fights down a wave of nausea as she half-stumbles and half-runs down the alley, away from her nightmare; the adrenaline rush is beginning to wear off and every injury makes itself agonizingly known.

Movement at the mouth of the passageway brings her to a sudden stop and she presses herself into the shadows, gripping the gun tightly as she raises it to a ready position. A dark figure moves cautiously towards her and as the light of the streetlamp catches the familiar mop of brown hair, a soft voice calls out, "Bambi?"

A sound between a sob and a laugh escapes Emily lips as she moves out of the shadows and staggers towards Tom. She falls against him, clinging desperately as he holds her up and begins to drag her back down the alley. "Come on Em, we don't have far to go."

"I'm so glad to see you." Her tired voice is strained and Tom notices her pained wince with every step they take. His grip involuntarily tightens around her battered body.

He sees her try to hide the grimace of pain and he asks, "Am I hurting you?"

"You're fine Tom; it's okay. I'll be okay." She grows silent as they approach the car and he carefully helps her inside. As she settles into the seat, she leans her head back and closes her eyes, listening as Tom takes the driver's seat and starts the engine.

"We're on our way back. She needs a doctor." He looks over at her as he comes to a stop at the first intersection; her eyes are still closed so he gives her a frank inspection. Dark bruises mar her face and arms, rope is still wrapped around both wrists, and dried blood is crusted on the lower portion of her face, as well as her neck and chest. Her hand hovers protectively over her right hip. "Hey Bambi, are you still with me?"

With her eyes still closed she murmurs, "Don't call me Bambi. Do you have a cigarette?"

With a smile that she doesn't see, Tom makes a left hand turn and drives down a quiet street. "Okay, my beautiful, doe-eyed, completely insane friend. Are you still with me? And no, I'm sorry; I don't have a pack on me."

Still leaning back on the headrest, she opens her eyes and looks out the passenger window. "I'm still here."

"So, how was the free booze?"

Emily snorts but doesn't turn away from the window. "You're an ass, and I can't believe that after what I just went through, you didn't bring me any cigarettes."

He smiles imperceptibly to himself and they drive through the night in silence. After several minutes he glances over and reaches out to clasps her left hand in his right. "Are you okay?" His soft voice cuts through the palpable hush of the car.

She shakes her head; her unfocused eyes are still directed towards the passenger window and they continue on in silence, still clutching each other's hand. As he navigates the sedan into the lot she finally gives her reply, a quiet whisper barely heard over the hum of the engine. "But I will be."

Tom brings the car to a stop and releases her hand to shift into park. "Hey, look at me Emily." He grasps her left hand again and gives it a slight tug. When she finally turns to face him, her large pain-filled eyes nearly breaks his heart, and he struggles to find the right words to say. "You know we're here for you, right?" He motions to Nick and Dean, who are striding across the lot towards them. Even to his own ears, the words sound lame.

She nods her head slightly and gives his hand a small squeeze. Their moment is broken as the passenger door swings open and Nick crouches beside her. His hands reach towards her and hover as if afraid he will damage her body even more. He had to listen to what they did to his partner, but seeing her like this… She looks so fragile; her body bloodied and bruised. Fragile was not a term he would have ever used to describe Emily Prentiss before this moment, and he knew that he was the one responsible. "I-I'm so sorry, Em. This is all my fault; I should have never left you." He clasped her hand in both of his, hoping he could make her understand how truly sorry he was.

"Jesus, Nick what are you talking about? This wasn't your fault and I'm too tired to deal with your misguided guilt right now. You're being ridiculous." She sighs at the hurt expression on his face. That's just great, one more thing for her to deal with. Looking past Nick she catches Dean's eyes, and unlike Tom and Nick she doesn't see horror, pity or guilt. It's pride shining in her team leader's eyes, and she gives him a small smile of relief and gratitude.

"Get out of the way Nick." Dean says gruffly as he gives him a little nudge and holds his hand out to Emily. "Welcome back kid. What took you so long?"

* * *

**An out-building in the middle of nowhere – Present time**

The sudden light permeates the dark room and Emily's closed eyelids. She squeezes her eyes tighter in an attempt to shut out the abrupt intrusion as she listens to Tony move about the room, humming to himself. She has managed a few hours of sleep, and though thirst and hunger are beginning to affect her, the needed rest has left her feeling stronger.

Slowly she opens her eyes and squints against the light, lifting her head away from the wall. Tony is changing the battery in the video recorder with an odd smirk on his face as he continues to hum the same tune over again; a small bottle of water rests on the floor next to his legs. As if sensing her eyes on him, his smirk deepens and he watches her from the corner of his eye as he attaches the camera back onto the tripod. "I hope you slept well Emily."

He snatches the bottle from the floor and ambles over. Crouching next to her, he holds up the water bottle for her to see. Her eyes follow a drop of condensation as it glides down the plastic, hangs precariously from the bottom of the bottle, before dropping in a free fall. She gasps as the drop lands on her stomach, and Tony grins at her reaction. "Are you thirsty?"

She runs her tongue over her dry lips as she looks up to his gaze, then back to the water bottle. With an exaggerated slowness he twists off the lid, and Emily's lips part in anticipation as the bottle is brought closer. After the first drops moisten her lips and splash on her tongue, her moan of relief turns to one of protestation as the bottle is promptly removed.

"Please, that wasn't enough." Her voice cracks as she pleads to him.

Tony replaces the lid and sets the bottle aside. "I love hearing you beg, Emily." He reaches behind his back and draws out his knife. "If you behave yourself, I will let you have more water." He swings his right leg over her; straddling her thighs, he holds her in place as he runs the flat of the slender blade up her stomach and between her breasts. As the blade grazes the skin above her sternum, he twists his wrist slightly and increases the pressure of the knife.

Lust burns in his dark eyes as she whimpers in pain; a dark trickle of red running down the valley between her breasts.

"I'll behave, I promise." Her desperate whisper fuels his arousal and he tucks his knife under the soiled mattress.

"I don't know if I can trust you Emily." He looks into her eyes as his hands move to his waist and he slowly unbuckles his belt and unbuttons his fly. Gone is the defiant spark and in its place is fear as she watches him unzip his jeans, his erection tenting the cotton of his underwear.

"I'm so tired. I don't want to do this anymore."

"Do what Emily?" His hands wander over her torso, smearing the fresh blood over her breasts.

"Fight!" Her voice comes out in a choked sob. "I can't do it anymore."

Her admission causes him to grow even harder and he bites back a groan. He needs her now. Pulling the keys from his front pocket he scoots further up her thighs and reaches around her, finding her binds. As the cuffs fall away from her wrists, she sags against the wall, tears finally spilling down her cheeks. Tony scuttles to the foot of the mattress and grabs both of her ankles, dragging her body fully into a supine position. Sitting back on his heels, panting heavily; he marvels at her, crying silently below him. He never expected her to submit so quickly; that he could break her so quickly. Now she is his…completely. No one could take her from him; especially Agent Morgan.

Reaching for the last scrap of clothing that still covers her body; he roughly tugs her panties down her legs. With a soft moan he lowers his head, forehead resting on her abdomen, and inhales her scent.

As she looks down her body at the top of his head, Emily rolls her eyes; that didn't take much convincing. She pushes her little performance to the back of her mind. She knows she must do whatever is necessary to get out of here; but surrender, even a false one, is a hard pill to swallow. One more thing for the Bureau shrink to analyze, but only if she manages to get out of here. Moving as carefully as she can, she snakes her arm around the edge of the mattress and feels around for the knife he carelessly left for her. _Bingo! _Her hand grasps the handle just as Tony lifts his head, and his eyes widen in alarm as the blade arcs towards him. His attempt to evade the knife is futile and Emily plunges it into the joint of his shoulder.

Tony howls in pain and Emily uses the weight of her body to push him off her legs. She rolls off the mattress and scrambles to her feet, pulling her panties back up where they belong. Frantically she scans the room for the rest of her clothes, but he must have taken them while she slept. _Now is not the time for modesty, _she chides herself as she hurries to the door.

"No!" The locked door is like a slap in the face, as if fate is mocking her, and she slams her hand against the door in frustration. It's enough to make her want to cry, for real this time. She turns her attention back to the room; the keys are in here, she just needs to find them. Tony is on his knees, whimpering in pain and she approaches him cautiously. His front pocket is her best bet and as she reaches for him, the chains that have kept her bound to the wall for the past several hours, catches her eye. Dangling from one of the cuffs is a key ring and she rushes to the far wall and pulls the keys free.

A sudden roar startles her and she turns quickly to find Tony on his feet, the knife clutched in his right hand and blood flowing freely down is arm. She eyes him warily as she steps sideways a few feet away from the mattress and any objects that might trip her. "Boy, I bet that hurt; pulling the knife out like that. Of course, now you're bleeding even worse than you were before."

"You shut your mouth you dirty little cu…"

"Don't you dare!" She interrupts his rant. "You try and call me that word again and it will be the last thing you say!"

Tony scoffs at her. "You're actually threatening me? I'm the one holding the knife!"

His statement causes her to chuckle, she just couldn't help herself. "You're also the one losing an impressive amount of blood."

"You're bleeding too." He gestures at her chest. "And no matter what you think, you're still no match for me. I'm never letting you outta here."

"See, that's where you're wrong Tony. You have no idea what I am capable of. Actually, very few people in this world truly know what I am capable of. Oh, and I'm already out of here, and there's not a goddamn thing you can do to stop me."

Growling in anger, Tony lurches toward her, his knife raised; however, he is broadcasting his intentions so clearly, Emily easily sidesteps him at the last moment, causing him to lose his balance; stumbling in his forward momentum. Emily helps him along with a side-kick to his rump and he collapses in a heap next to the mattress.

Fumbling with the keys, she abruptly drops them in shock as the door bursts open and Morgan and Rossi rush into the building; both men momentarily freeze at the sight of her, lowering their guns slightly. Overwhelmed with relief, a slightly hysterical laughter escapes her lips at the sight of the two agents standing in front of her, and she clamps her hand over her mouth to stop the sound. "Are you really here?" Her hand muffles the question.

Morgan rushes towards her. "Prentiss?" She stares at him with wide-eyes as she drops her hand from her mouth and reaches out to tentatively touch his arm, as if assuring herself that he is real. Sudden movement from the other side of the room diverts their attention away from Emily and both agents raise their guns and take a step forward. Tony is struggling back to his feet, clutching the knife in his hand as he stares at Emily, seemingly oblivious to the agents who have burst into his torture chamber.

"Put the knife down Michaels. It's over!" Rossi's glare hardens as he barks at Tony. To his left he sees Morgan take another small step to try and angle himself in front of Emily, though the younger agent's gun and his gaze never waver from the unsub in from of him.

Tony slowly moves his eyes from Emily to Rossi, then finally back over to Morgan, and his eyes widen as if he's just noticing him for the first time. "No! You can't have her!" His face contorts and spittle flies from his mouth as he shouts his rage at Morgan. Raising his knife, he makes a sudden lunge, either at Emily or Morgan; it was too close to tell.

Two shots echo through the small building as Morgan and Rossi each fire a round, both taking Tony in the chest and he drops heavily onto his back, one leg tucked under the other. Morgan holsters his weapon and moves back to Emily as Rossi approaches Tony and kicks the knife from his hand. Removing one hand from his gun, which is still trained on Tony, Rossi raises his wrist to his mouth. "Hotch, we found Emily; Tony's down."

"_Is she alive?"_

"Yeah, but she's going to need medical attention."

"_Ortiz has an ambulance standing by; where are you?"_

"The small shack near the lake; at the back of the property."

"_What about Tony, does he need an ambulance." _Rossi watches as Tony struggles to breath, pink foam bubbling from his mouth.

"I guess that depends on how fast they can get here." Rossi glances quickly over his shoulder; Emily was still standing in the same position, her large eyes never leaving Tony's form as she watches him bleed out, while Morgan drapes his Bureau issue windbreaker over her shoulders. As the older agent looks back down at Tony, a part of him hopes the paramedics take their time.

"Agent Morgan," Tony wheezes, forcing the words from his mouth. "Aren't you wondering what I did to her?" Morgan clenches his jaw and narrows his eyes as he steps away from Emily and stands to tower over the dying man. Tony laughs when he sees the dark agent, the blood spewing from his lips. "She'll leave you. She belongs to me now, she always will."

"No!" The shout from behind them startles both agents and they turn to find Emily striding towards them; her eyes blazing with anger as she tries to approach Tony. Morgan quickly grabs her arms to keep her from getting too close, and he's shocked when she tries to squirm out of his grasp. "I am not yours! I never was and never will be!"

Tony coughs up more blood and his breath rattles in his chest one last time before he goes still.

"Prentiss…Prentiss!" Emily is still struggling to get at Tony. "Prentiss, look at me!" Morgan's voice finally penetrates her frantic mind and she abruptly stops her exertion and looks around wildly.

When her gaze finally returns to Morgan it is unfocused and she suddenly asks, "Am I in an out-building in the middle of fucking nowhere?"

Morgan looks up at Rossi as he guides her away from Tony's body, and the concern on the older man's face reflects his own feelings. He is reeling at the events that have just unfolded, and his initial relief at finding his partner alive has given way to alarm. He bends slightly down to her level and looks into her eyes. "Emily?"

She moves closer to him, and as she rests her forehead against his chest she exhales, "Derek." Gingerly, he places his arms around her; she stiffens momentarily at the contact, and then gradually relaxes at his touch. A sudden flutter of activity pulls his attention from Emily, as Hotch, JJ and Reid rush into the building, the paramedics in tow.

The three agents survey the small building, noting the soiled mattress, the handcuffs: both on the wall and dangling from the ceiling, and the video recorder aimed to capture all the gruesome details; poised to make their friend's private hell a very public one. JJ covers her mouth with her hand as she sees Emily clinging to Morgan, and she takes a deep breath as she strides over to them, motioning the medics to follow. In stunned silence, Hotch and Reid take in Emily's condition before quietly turning to join Rossi, standing above Tony's unmoving body.

Morgan looks over Emily's head at JJ as she approaches them, her brilliant blue eyes shimmering with tears. She runs her hand lightly down Emily's back and she swallows a sob as her friend jerks suddenly from her touch. "Hey Em, it's just me." She struggles to keep her voice steady as her friend turns back slightly to glance at her.

"Emily," Morgan says softly, bringing her focus back to him. "I'm going to go talk to Hotch for a minute. JJ is going to stay with you while the medics check you over, okay?" She briefly tightens her grip on his forearm before giving him a nod.

Morgan disengages from Emily's hold and watches for a moment as JJ steers her towards the waiting medics. Turning reluctantly, he joins the rest of the agents around Tony's body.

"This is a stab wound." Reid is squatting next to Tony, examining the wound on his shoulder. "Do you think Emily did this?"

Hotch tilts his head and looks at the wound, then back at the knife Rossi had kicked across the floor. "The wound is fresh and she's the only person he has on this property. She must have gained the upper hand somehow."

"She never stopped fighting." Rossi states softly.

"How is she?" Hotch directs his question at Morgan as he turns to watch the medics help his battered agent onto the gurney; worry etched plainly in his expression.

With his hands on his hips, Morgan shakes his head; he can't seem to find his voice. His mind keeps flashing to the image of Emily as he had entered the building with Rossi: her nearly naked body covered in bruises and taser burns; dried blood caked to her skin from at least two cuts; fresh blood smeared over her breasts and oozing from a cut down the middle of her chest. Rossi sees the anguish in the younger agent's eyes and answers the question for him. "I think shock is starting to sink in. But Michaels was sprawled out on the floor and Emily had the keys in her hands when Morgan kicked the door open; she was on her way out of here."

Hotch nods his head as he steps towards the video camera that is still recording. "We'll need to get this footage to Garcia. We didn't find any of Michaels' homemade films at his house; they must be here somewhere. I want all of Ortiz's available agents to help us search this entire property. What happened after you entered the building? Did Michaels say anything?"

Morgan turns from the men and walks away; he doesn't want to say out loud the words that Tony said to him. Because truth be told, he is wondering what that bastard did to her. What happened in this room; what horrors did he inflict on her?

The paramedics are speaking softly to Emily as they work and Morgan watches as one of them cleans the cut near her collarbone while the second one prepares her other arm for an IV drip. JJ is at the head of the stretcher stroking Emily's hair, and the soothing action seems to have a calming effect on his partner. Emily turns from the medic as she senses his approach and graces him with a tired smile. His heart soars at the sight and he struggles to contain the rush of emotion. "What's the IV for?" He directs his question to the second paramedic; a pathetic attempt to cover how much Emily is affecting him.

"It's just saline; she's dehydrated and we need to get fluids into her." The woman gives him a reassuring smile before turning back to Emily.

"Have you called Garcia yet?" At her question, Morgan looks across the stretcher to JJ. Damn; he knows she's going to be mad at him for not calling her immediately, but he just can't deal with that right now. He shakes his head and gives her a shrug. She nods her understanding and glances down at Emily, who was having difficulty keeping her eyes open.

"We're ready to take her in; does one of you want to ride along?" JJ and Morgan both open their mouths to respond when Emily suddenly speaks up. "Derek? Will you stay with me?" Her voice is coarse and raspy, but to Morgan's ears, it's beautiful.

He folds her hand in both of his as he smiles down at her. "I'm not going anywhere Princess."

* * *

A/N - Thank you for reading, and thank you to those who reviewed the last chapter. And as always a big thanks to my beta Lostinoblivion


	6. Chapter 6

"Isn't Morgan coming?" JJ sank into the booth across from Garcia as she set her food on the table. It was late afternoon and there wasn't much of a dinner crowd yet, so the tech analyst had managed to grab a great table next to the window.

Garcia paused at JJ's question, her fork poised in front of her lips. "He said he needed to go the grocery store." Her fork finished its journey and she closed her eyes and moaned in appreciation. "God, this is the best macaroni and cheese on the planet."

"What? But this is his favorite deli… let me in JJ." JJ rolled her eyes and stood up to allow Reid to wiggle across the seat. "I thought he was going to eat with us and take a sandwich to go for Emily."

"Well, he decided he wanted to make her his mama's lasagna. And frankly, as long as my beautiful man is getting my beautiful Vision to finally eat, then I'm okay with him standing us up. And speaking of beautiful, what's our beautiful and brilliant godson doing tonight?" She turned to JJ as she scrunched her face in amusement.

"They are at the movie theater watching 'How To Train Your Dragon'. I fortunately get to miss out on that cartoon."

"Actually, it's an animated movie and did you know that David Tennant is one of the voice actors in that movie?" Reid's face lit up with a happy grin as he spoke, his busy fingers punctuating his words as Garcia nodded at him enthusiastically.

"Okay, since I don't know who that is I'm going to assume it's some science fiction person. Can we please have one conversation without the two of you going all nerdy on me?" JJ poked at her grilled chicken before she placed her fork down with a sigh. "Have either of you talked to Emily this afternoon?"

Reid shook his head as Garcia replied, "No Cupcake, I leave her alone on therapy days. Besides, she wouldn't answer her phone anyway. She sure does love the kitten I got her though!" She beamed as she looked across the table at JJ's skeptical face.

"What? Everybody knows animals are therapeutic and she was talking about getting a cat anyway. And she dotes on her little fur baby!"

JJ took a sip of her lemonade, and then placed the glass back on the table. Like a nervous tic, she ran her index finger around the rim of the glass as her eyes glazed over, seemingly lost in thought. With a sudden shake of her head, she lifted her eyes to meet Garcia's. "Hotch said they finished watching Michaels' homemade videos today. Emily's was the final one." She paused; her face softening as the tech analyst's eyes misted over. "I'm sorry Penelope; we don't have to talk about it." She reached out to squeeze Garcia's hand.

"At least he can't hurt anymore women." Reid awkwardly handed her a napkin to dab her eyes with and quickly drew back as she snatched it with indignation.

"You chose not to watch what he did to her. I didn't get that choice, someone had to digitize and catalogue those videos. That man was a monster! And the fact that he touched our girl just makes me want to…" She blew her nose into the napkin as JJ came around the table to sit next to her, placing an arm around the distraught woman's shoulder.

"Hey Penelope, you know Emily and she is not going to let this keep her down. She's already grumbling that she hasn't been in the field for three weeks. She said she was tired of restrictive duty and itching to get back into action."

Reid watched as JJ tried to sooth Garcia and he wanted to believe the words she was saying. But the reality was that Prentiss went through a very traumatic event and it was very likely she was suffering from any number of emotional issues; possibly even PTSD. She seemed fine this past week, almost like her old self: grumbling about the overwhelming number of consults; the endless paperwork that continued to pile up on her desk; and yelling across the bullpen, wondering who the idiot was that kept drinking the last drop of coffee without making a fresh pot. But Reid could see the dark circles under her eyes that her make-up didn't quite cover and the subtle distance she kept from them; keeping them at arm's length, even more than she usually did. He knew all too well the hell that could be hiding under the surface and the lengths a person would go through to make the pain go away; or at least to numb the pain, if only for a little while.

"Do you really believe that?" Both women looked at him with expressions as different as their personalities. Garcia's went from hopeful at the words JJ spoke to her, to anxious at what Reid might mean by his question. JJ gave him a glare, her eyes warning him from voicing anything that would upset Garcia any further. But he couldn't keep the words to himself. "Do you really think she's okay or itching to get back into action? Or is she putting on a brave face while she avoids dealing with what happened to her?"

* * *

With most of the BAU gone for the day, Hotch was taking advantage of the lack of distractions to look over the file of a possible case. But his internal distractions were almost as bad. Prentiss had worked most of the morning before leaving for her appointment with Dr. Bruner, and he couldn't suppress the nagging worry he felt every time he looked at her. A presence at his office door drew his attention away from his thoughts and he looked up as Rossi sauntered in. He was toting a bottle of Gentleman Jack and two tumblers, which he deposited on Hotch's desk as he took a seat.

Hotch watched in amusement as Rossi began pouring the golden liquid into the glasses. "We're starting early tonight, aren't we?"

The older agent placed the bottle aside and lifted one of the glasses. "After the afternoon we had, I think we're due." He raised the glass to his lips and took a sip, closing his eyes as he savored the flavor.

Hotch couldn't think of a reasonable argument, so he threw reason aside and lifted his own glass. The whiskey was full-bodied and smooth, and he nodded his approval. "Prentiss will probably be cleared for field duty later this week."

"That's what I hear. What do you think about that?"

Hotch twirled the liquid around in the tumbler as he pondered Rossi's question. "She says she's ready."

"But…" Rossi prompted.

"It's been three weeks but I can't help but wonder if it's too soon. You saw what he did; do you honestly think she's ready to be back in the field?"

"I did see what he did to her, and I saw what she did to him. She profiled him, manipulated him, tricked him, stabbed him, and eventually got away from him. Hell, even I was surprised at her tenacity. Is she ready to be back in the field? I can't answer that, only she can. The question here is, are you ready for her to be back in the field?" Rossi poured himself another couple of fingers and gestured to Hotch with the bottle.

Hotch tossed back the rest of his drink and held out the empty glass for a re-fill. "I don't know. Her method of dealing is to lock the trauma away in a tidy little box in her mind." _I guess…maybe…I compartmentalize better than most people. _He frowned as he remembered the words she said to him and JJ, just a few months after joining the unit. They were so alike in that manner. Taking all the responsibility and never asking for help.

"Not only did we see her at her most vulnerable, but a large portion of her ordeal was recorded, which now you, Morgan and I have watched." Rossi failed to keep the anger he felt out of his tone.

Hotch shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "When you add the horror that Michaels inflicted on her, I'm not sure Prentiss has a box big enough to lock all that away."

"Can I make a suggestion?" He paused as he waited for Hotch's consent. "Put her with me for the first couple of cases. I can subtly keep an eye on her and Morgan won't be able to smother her."

"That was actually my intention." Hotch considered whether he should admit his next thought to his friend, and when he finally made his decision, his soft voice sounded almost desperate. "Dave, do you know how many times I nearly lost it? It took all of my self-control to keep it together for the team." He downed the contents of his glass with one large gulp. "You know, I agreed with Morgan after I ordered everyone to go back to the hotel. I wanted to stay and keep working the case…"

"But we didn't have anything to go on and the team needed to rest. You did the right thing Aaron."

"I know…I know I did. But my biggest fear was finding her body and discovering she was killed while we were back at the hotel." Hotch cringed as he set his glass back on the desk. "And I thought Colorado was bad."

"Well, she made it back from Oklahoma just like she made it make from Colorado, and she's going back into the field. So are you going to be a mother hen around her? Because if you are, try not to be too obvious…she just might deck you."

The corners of Hotch's lips rose imperceptibly. "I doubt I'll be anywhere near as bad as Morgan will be."

* * *

The flickering light from the TV failed to hold her interest as Emily stared in its general direction. The hours following her required appointments with Dr. Bruner usually left her reliving their session and the topics that were discussed. Today's subject was her false surrender. The shrink seemed interested in why the ruse Emily used had bothered her so much. _After all, that's what gave you the advantage over him._ She scowled as Dr. Bruner's annoyingly placating voice rang in her mind.

Emily was pretty sure she had not managed to explain it clearly. She wasn't even sure if she completely understood why herself. Maybe it was because after trying for so long to stay strong, through all the pain, humiliation, and fear, that to suddenly give up was abhorrent to her. Sure it wasn't a real surrender, and maybe it was stubborn pride that was making it difficult for her accept what she had to do.

The doorbell pulled Emily out of her reverie and she frowned as she looked at the clock. Morgan had been stopping by with dinner after work, but it was too early to be him. The end table next to her held her personal pistol and she quickly opened the drawer and pulled out her Beretta PX4 9MM; inserted the magazine and pulled back the sliding mechanism to load the chamber. Quietly, she stalked barefoot down the entry hall and placed her eye to the peephole as she approached the front door. She knew they would show up here sooner or later. Sighing in resignation, she tucked the gun into the drawer of her entry table, and opened the door.

"Hey guys, when did you get back in town?" She leaned against the open door and watched as Dean, Nick and Tom strode over the threshold and headed towards her kitchen. "Please, make yourselves at home," she muttered as she closed the door and followed them.

Tom was rooting through her cupboards and Nick was filling the coffee pot with water as Emily entered the room. "What are you doing?"

"Making coffee, what's it look like?" Tom's inflection told her the answer should have been obvious. "Where do you keep your coffee, by the way?"

Nick moved out of her way as Emily crossed to the cupboard above the coffee maker and pulled out the coffee canister and four mugs, grumbling under her breath the entire time.

"I'm sorry; I didn't quite catch that." Her former partner smiled down at her as he took the coffee from her, scooped the grounds into the filter and turned on the machine.

"I said…" She hesitated and looked at the three men, filling the space in her kitchen. She had known them most of her adult life and she trusted them irrevocably, but she knew why they were here. Tom had obviously told them what had happened, but she's just not sure if she could do this with them right now. She bit her lip as she listened to the coffee percolate behind her, the aroma soothing her senses.

"We just came by for coffee." Dean smiled as she looked at him incredulously. "I suppose a little talk wouldn't be out of order. Nick and I haven't seen you for a couple of months; we wanted to catch up." Emily snorted at his less than completely honest answer, but accepted a cup from Nick and motioned them into her living room.

Emily settled herself onto the middle cushion of the couch; one leg tucked under her, and wrapped her hands around the warm mug, and deeply breathed in the aroma. Nick and Tom sat on either side of her and Dean eased into the nearby arm chair. Splayed half-in and half-out of a pet bed in the corner, was her little black kitten; the back half of his body still on the carpet, while the front half had actually made it into the bed.

"You got a cat?" Nick eyed the sleeping kitten with amusement.

She smiled with affection at the kitten's prone body. "Sergio was a gift."

"Sergio? You named him Sergio?" Dean's voice seemed skeptical as he studied his former subordinate.

"Yeah, so?" The men looked at her quizzically. "What's wrong with Sergio?"

"Didn't you have an old boyfriend named Sergio?" Emily tilted her head and looked at Dean with a puzzled expression.

"No, his name was Shamus." Nick pointed out helpfully.

"His name was Sacha.'' Emily corrected them with a sigh.

A few minutes ticked by in silence as everyone but Emily sipped their coffee; they all avoided eye contact with each other. Emily felt the tension in her rising; she knew the questions were about to come her way and she had never been able to hide her emotions as easily from these men. They had known her too damn long.

"How are you holding up, kid?" Emily gave a small start as Dean's sudden question broke the silence and her own inner musings.

"I'm fine." Emily, Nick and Tom all replied in unison.

Dean grinned as Emily glared at Nick and Tom in turn. "Obviously you need a more original answer. We've heard that one before."

Emily sighed as she set her mug on the coffee table. "Physically, I am fine. I didn't have any really serious injuries. The cuts were stitched up; although, one of them was infected, but antibiotics cleared that away. The bruising is gone and the taser scabs are starting to peel off."

"What about up here?" Nick lightly tapped his index finger against her head.

Swatting his hand away from her, she narrowed her eyes at him before she continued. "I'm seeing a Bureau shrink. She should clear me this week for full duty." She paused and looked across the room. "But she has requested that I continue seeing her."

She could see Tom nod his head in her peripheral vision. "That's probably a good idea. Will you?"

Emily shrugged her shoulders slightly. "I don't know…maybe. She's not that bad."

Dean leaned forward in his chair and placed his empty mug on the coffee table. "Do you remember what happened?"

"I remember most of it." She nodded her head lightly and unconsciously began picking at her thumbnail. "The parts I have a hard time remembering are after the taser shocks. I don't remember him taking off my clothes, or making the first cut into my chest." The men all grimaced at her matter-of-fact intonation at the description of her abuse. "The second day is crystal clear though, until Morgan and Rossi busted through the door. It gets a little fuzzy after that."

"You were in shock." Tom replied softly.

"Yeah, I guess so. It's taken them awhile, but they finally found all the torture tapes he made of his victims. He had them hidden in several places around his friend's house and out-buildings. I haven't watched any of them. Or mine. I'm not quite ready for that." It was bad enough the entire team saw her hurt and vulnerable, but the thought of them watching Michaels torture her was a humiliation she didn't want to think about. She would rather pretend they hadn't seen it. Emily switched her assault from her left thumbnail, to her right; an action that had not gone unnoticed by the men. "But what I remember most through the whole thing, is the absolute certainty that the team would find me. I never let go of that."

A deafening silence filled the room and Emily brought her focus back to her former teammates, none of whom would meet her eye, and she realized what she had just said. "Oh…guys, that wasn't a dig at any of you. I always knew the risks when I went under, and I accepted that. We've already been through this… years ago." She looked pointedly at Nick, who had finally raised his eyes to her gaze.

Dean rubbed his hand over his face. "Emily, don't mind us; we're just relieved your team found you too."

Nick shifted his body slightly studying her as she was focused on Dean. "You look like you haven't been eating or sleeping."

"Is that your way of saying I look like shit?"

"No." Nick calmly placed his mug next to hers and turned to her. "It's my way of politely asking; are you eating and sleeping?"

"I am eating…now," she admitted hesitantly. "And Morgan has made it his personal mission to feed me every evening."

"And sleep?" Tom prompted.

"The shrink prescribed an antidepressant to help with the anxiety."

Dean raised an eyebrow at that. "Nightmares?"

"No." Emily shook her head and tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. "When I finally fall asleep, I'm okay."

"Flashbacks." Nick nodded knowingly. "I remember they plagued you after Moscow."

Emily waved her hand as she made a non-committal noise. "If I keep myself busy I'm fine, but…" She trailed off and looked vacantly across the room. "It's worse when I'm lying in bed, trying to go to sleep. The pills are supposed to help, eventually. I just really hate having to take them."

"Emily, what do you see?"

She looked at Dean with large, pleading eyes and shook her head.

Tom finally set his coffee mug on the table and gave her hands a squeeze. "Em, it's us. We've been through hell and back together. We literally lived together for five years. We've seen the best and worst of each other, and through it all, we have always been there for each other. You know that doesn't change just because you're on some elite FBI team now."

She knew Tom was right. No matter how much she loved her BAU team; there were so many things she had kept from them. Some out of necessity – they simply don't have the clearance to know about her past – but also because she came to the BAU with so many walls built up to protect herself, that she's not even sure if she could completely let them in. She had discussed the flashbacks with the bureau psychiatrist, but Emily always spoke of the flashbacks in a professional manner. She refused let it show how much they affected her emotionally.

Pulling her hands from Tom's grasp, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly, crossing her arms over her chest. "I see his eyes. How they could go from dull and flat to excited at the thought of hurting me. I hear the sound the hose made as it hit my body and I can feel the terror of not knowing where it will hit next, or when it will stop. I feel the ice water as he dumps it on my body and I wonder if I'll ever be warm again." She paused to clear her throat. "But the worst one…" Her voice cracked and she struggled to keep her breathing even. "Over and over I see Morgan's body, convulsing on Michaels' living room floor." A sudden sob escaped her and she clasped a hand over her mouth in a desperate attempt to stifle the well of emotions that threatened to break.

Nick reached out and clutched her other hand and her tears finally fell. This was the one flashback she had held back from her therapist. She knew if she had voiced this during her sessions, she wouldn't have been able to keep her emotions in check. All three men moved closer, as if trying to lend support with their mere presence. "I can't get it out of my head. He's always been this big, strong presence at my side, and to have him there with me and then incapacitated in a matter of seconds…" She sniffed and raised her hand to brush away the tears that continued to fall. "I've never felt so helpless. And that includes being chained naked to a wall by a sexual sadist."

Dean held a tissue in his outstretched hand and she accepted it gratefully. "And the worst part is…I-I hesitated. When I saw Derek; I just froze."

"That's understandable."

"No Dean, it's not! I was trained better than that and you know it!" Anger had replaced her anguish. Anger she felt at her longtime friends for making her voice her shortcomings. Anger at Morgan for not being the superman she had come to expect; but simply a man who had moments of weakness, just like everybody else. Anger at Tony Michaels for taking away the life she had, and now missed; a life that did not consist of her team watching her every move, smothering her with their concern and pity. But mostly she was mad at herself for caring so goddamn much, when all she really wanted to do was shut everybody out and not feel anything.

"Emily," Tom reasoned. "Someone you care about was attacked and hurt right in front of you."

Emily shook her head stubbornly, scrubbing her face furiously with the tissue. "If I hadn't hesitated, Tony wouldn't have gotten the upper hand on me. The entire ordeal could have been avoided if I had kept my head in the game."

"You don't know that." Dean reached out and lightly touched her knee. "The man got the jump on both of you. Neither of you were expecting a fight when you got there."

She felt Nick shift subtly on the cushion next to her, and she closed her eyes as his soft words battered at her stubborn anger. "Em, you cannot burden yourself with guilt for circumstances that were beyond your control. You told me that once, do you remember?" She ran her tongue over her lip and nodded her head briefly at his question. "I believe you told me to 'get over it'. Did I get over it? To be honest, not really. Did I work through it? Yes, I did…eventually." Nick smiled at her as he recalled the night she forced him to talk out his unresolved guilt about leaving her behind.

"Can I ask you a question?" Tom thought for a moment about how he should phrase what he wanted to say. The last thing he needed was for her to shut down after she had finally begun to open up to them. "Why do you think the flashbacks of Agent Morgan upset you more than the flashbacks of your own torture?"

Emily turned wide, red-rimmed eyes to him, as Nick and Dean shifted uncomfortably. "What? But… Tom, I told you; I felt helpless. That's why..."

"Or, you could be focusing on Morgan to avoid what you went through. That has always been your pattern. You put all your energy into those around you to avoid facing your own pain."

"That's what happened when we ran into each other in Belgrade. You wanted to talk about the guilt I still felt, but you wouldn't talk about what you went through." Nick pulled back from her slightly as Emily turned to him, anger flashing in her dark eyes.

"I told you then that I had dealt with it, Nick; I didn't need to talk about it. You were the one who hadn't faced what had happened." She stood up abruptly and began to stalk around the living room; staring at the carpet in front of her while she paced rather than meet the wary eyes of her friends.

"Em, please stop pacing and listen to me." Tom pleaded softly as he watched her. "Now it's true you've had training that your team doesn't even know about, and I know this is hard for you to hear, but you still need to face what happened. I mean really face it. Not bury it, or build a wall around it like some Agency machine. You don't need to do it today, or tomorrow, or even next week. But I think your therapist is right, you should continue to see her. Let her help you. It's okay to need help and it's okay to ask for it. You cannot face it alone; you're not an Agency machine anymore. Allow yourself to feel, to be human.

Emily abruptly stopped her pacing and closed her eyes as a memory forced its way into her conscious. _And I need to know that I can be human._

She opened her eyes and drew in a shaky breath. She felt raw and exposed. Tom had seen right through her; all three of them had, and a part of her was relieved. Trying to be strong all the time was so damn hard. She didn't want to play the part of Agency machine anymore. "I'm not sure I know how to let anyone in anymore." Her husky voice was thick with emotion, and tears began to fall once more.

Nick rose from the couch and enveloped her in his arms and she leaned into his warm embrace. She took comfort in the security of his arms, and Emily knew this was exactly what she needed. She clutched him tightly as he stroked her back. "Sure you do Em; you're just a little out of practice is all."

Her bitter chuckle was muffled against his chest and he smiled as he tenderly kissed the top of her head. "Are you mad at us?" His smile widened as she shook her head, her face still buried in his chest. "Not even at Tom? You know he kinda sounded like a Hallmark movie."

She chortled as she stepped away from his embrace, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. "No, not even at Tom." A small smile formed as she considered the three men, her gaze finally resting on Tom. "Thank you." She sniffed and hesitated for a moment, "You are probably the only ones who could tell me those things and actually get me to listen."

"So you did actually listen?" Dean's serious tone is belied by the beginnings of a smirk and he handed her another tissue.

Emily blew her nose and then gave a rueful smile at his remark. "I know it may not seem like it, but I do listen sometimes." She glanced at the coffee table and quickly changed the subject. "I can make more coffee." She gestured to the mugs lying on the table.

"No thanks." The three men replied in unison.

With a slight shake of her head, she snatched a couple of the mugs when Tom suddenly rose to his feet to join her. "Hey Bambi, let me help you with that." He grabbed the remaining cups and followed her into the kitchen, watching her as she rinsed them under the tap. "Listen, I'm sorry if I was tough on you in there. I just need to know that you are going to be okay."

She rolled her eyes, but gave him a smile when she saw his worried expression. "I will be Tom, I really will. Look, I know I internalize too much. And you're right; I do bury stuff away to avoid dealing with it. I can't change overnight, but I will try to work on it. And the team has been trying to be supportive, without pushing me too much. So I'm grateful for that."

"Mmm…" The smug look on Tom's face piqued Emily's interest.

"What?"

He leaned a hip against the counter and crossed his arms. "Well, in our last few phone calls, I don't hear as much about the team as I do about Derek Morgan."

Emily felt a flush spread across her face and she busied herself with putting the mugs away in the dishwasher.

"What? No witty retort from Emily Prentiss? Wow, I think that's a first."

His smug expression deepened and Emily pretended not to notice. "How did Declan do on his vocabulary test?"

"He got an A. Quit trying to change the subject."

The other two men sauntered into the kitchen. "What are you whispering about?" Nick asked as the doorbell rang.

"Saved by the bell," she muttered to Tom under her breath as she headed toward the front door. "That's probably Morgan." She called over her shoulder as the men followed her into the entry.

"Hey." She greeted him with a smile as she opened the door.

"Hey, yourself. I hope you're in the mood for Lasagna, because my mom's recipe…" Morgan's voice trailed off as he stepped inside her apartment and noticed the three men staring at him from behind Emily. "Emily, is everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's fine." She smiled back at her former teammates as she closed the door behind Morgan. "Derek, I would like you to meet some old friends of mine. They stopped by for a visit, but they are on their way out." She gave them a pointed look, warning them to behave themselves. "This is Dean Hawke, Tom Kohler and Nick Murphy."

All three men stepped forward to shake Morgan's hand. "We're honored to finally meet you Agent Morgan." At the surprised look on the agent's face at their apparent knowledge of him, Dean elaborated. "Emily's told us about you. Well, I guess we will be on our way. It looks like the two of you have some cooking to do." Dean winked at Emily as he stepped in for a hug. Planting a kiss on top of her head he murmured to her, "you call me if you need anything, okay kid?"

Emily gave him a quick nod as he turned to walk out the front door. Her attention was quickly drawn to Tom as he wrapped her in a tight hug and pecked her cheek with a kiss. "Bye Bambi, I'll call to check up on you later." He gave her a final squeeze before joining Dean in the hall.

Nick pulled her into a lingering hug and placed a quick kiss on her lips. "I can come back later to tuck you in, if you like."

Emily, suppressing a smirk, looked back up at him as she shook her head. "In your dreams, buddy."

"Every night." Nick smiled down at her as he pulled away. "I miss you. Call me later, okay?" She nodded as she continued to look at him, her expression a cross between irritation and mild amusement. Expecting Nick to behave was asking too much.

As Morgan watched the exchanges between his partner and her friends, his features became more and more bewildered and by the time Nick stepped away from Emily, the agent's eyes were narrowed suspiciously. Nick approached Morgan and held his hand out to him once more. "I've been where you are. Just know that it was beyond your control and you can't change what happened." Morgan shook Nick's hand and his look of suspicion turned to confusion at his words. As the man walked through the threshold, pulling the door closed behind him, Morgan turned his attention back to Emily.

"Well, that was interesting. How long have you known them?" He watched her with bemusement as she fidgeted under his stare.

"A long time." She paused, and seemed on the verge of saying something more, when she suddenly changed her mind. She reached for the shopping bags and asked with forced cheer. "So, what are we making tonight?" She led him back to the kitchen where she deposited the bags on the counter and began to rummage through them.

"My mom's famous lasagna, with garlic bread and a garden salad." Her red-rimmed eyes had not escaped his notice and he watched her carefully as she unloaded the bags; something seemed to have happened and he's unsure of how to proceed. "Do you want to chop the veggies for the salad while I start the lasagna?"

"Sure." She smiled slightly as she pulled the chopping board from the cabinet. They both worked in silence for several minutes: the only sounds were the sizzling of meat, the chopping of the knife and the slow bubbling, coming from the boiling pasta on the stove. It's not an entirely uncomfortable silence. In the past few weeks Morgan had come to feel comfortable in Emily's condo, and he moved effortlessly around the kitchen.

Trying to sound casual he asked, "So, how do you know those guys."

He heard a sigh behind him before she finally responded. "It's complicated."

Struggling to hide his frustration he continued. "Okay…so how did therapy go today?" Morgan kept his voice light as he focused on the browning meat in front of him.

"It went okay." She turned to watch him working at the stove for a few moments before she continued. "I'm thinking I might continue to see her, even after she's cleared me for duty." She turned quickly back to chopping vegetables as Morgan pivoted to face her.

"Really?" He failed to hide the astonishment from his tone and he grimaced as he saw her back go rigid at his question. "What I meant was; I think that's a good idea."

"You do?"

"Of course I do. With what we see and do, it's good to have someone to talk to; to help us deal. And sometimes it's easier to talk to a stranger rather than someone you're close to."

"So who do you talk to?" She asked softly into the air.

"Clooney."

She turned back around to face him, her teeth gripping her bottom lip. "So, you don't think it's weak or…"

"Emily, no one would ever describe you as weak, especially me." He moved the skillet from the hot burner to a cold one and joined her at the counter. "I watched the video today." She squirmed uncomfortably and he spoke quickly to ease her discomfort. "And what I saw was a woman who refused to give up, who never stopped fighting, and who would have made it out on her own if we hadn't interrupted her escape. I am so proud of you." As she turned her scrutiny to the floor, he reached out to lightly touch her arm. "I'm so sorry…"

She lifted her head to meet his gaze and gasped at the guilt and distress that warred in his eyes. "Derek, it wasn't your fault." She sighed at his momentary look of disbelief. "I hesitated…"

He watched her with confusion as she turned from him and scooped up the kitten that had padded into the room. "What?"

Keeping her back to Morgan, she scratched the sleepy cat behind his ears and allowed a momentary smile to grace her features as Sergio looked up and blinked at her with his big green eyes. She then steeled herself to finish the conversation she had started.

"When I turned and saw you on the ground after Michaels tasered you… I hesitated. If anything, it's my fault."

Morgan stepped closer to her and shook his head. "Emily, that's crazy. It wasn't your fault."

"It's not any crazier than you blaming yourself!" She took a calming breath as she turned to face him, the kitten in her arms squirming to get free. "Derek…I-I guess we both have guilt issues we need to work out." She paused as she worked up the courage to say her next words. "Maybe we can work on it together." She lowered Sergio to the floor and he slinked towards his food bowl, until a phantom menace only he could see caused him to jump in the air, twist his body mid-jump and bolt out of the room.

Both agents watched the kitten's antics: Emily with a large grin; Morgan with a raised eyebrow and a shake of his head. He turned back to her and his face softened when he saw her reaction to the kitten. In that moment, she looked calm and happy. He missed seeing her like that and he would do anything to help her get that back. But was she actually willing to talk to him, to really open up? She never seemed to trust easily. As if reading his thoughts, she met his eyes and softly spoke to his questioning gaze. "I know it's not going to be easy, but I trust you Morgan, and I want to try…if you are willing."

He flashed a smile as he pulled her into a firm hug and she hesitated for a moment before she wrapped her arms around his waist. "We are a pair aren't we?" He murmured into her hair. "Both proud and too damn stubborn for our own good." He grunted as she suddenly jabbed him in the ribs. Chuckling he pulled back and looked into her expressive eyes. "Yes, I am willing to try. For you, I am always willing and I will always be here for you." Holding her gaze, he took a step back, allowing his hand to slide down her arm to clasp her hand. "Emily, I'm glad you trust me enough to want to work on this together. I don't want you to do this alone, because you are not alone. We're not just partners, we are friends."

Emily squeezed his hand as she quirked her lips in amusement. "Well, can I just tell you, as one friend to another? Your pasta's boiling over."

* * *

_A/N: Thank you for taking this journey with me. _

_I know I've said this in every AN, but a huge thank you to my beta, lostinoblivion. Your encouragement, knowledge, advice and support have been invaluable. I could not have done this without you._


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